“As soon as I had written my letter,” continued Oaklands, “I went to Cumberland, and told him that I found I had been going on over fast,—that I owned he was too good a player for me,—and that I therefore did not mean to play any more—and would pay him as soon as I received my father's answer.”
“And what did he say to that?” inquired I.
“Why, he seemed surprised and a little annoyed, I fancied. He denied being the best player, and begged I would not think of paying him yet, saying that I had been unlucky of late, but that, if I would go on boldly, luck was sure to change, and that I should most likely win it all back again.”
“And you?”
“Oh! I told him that was the true spirit of gambling; that I did not choose to owe so much to any man as I owed him, and that pay him I would. Well then, he said, that if I did not like to trouble my father about such a trifle, and yet was determined to pay him, it could be very easily managed. I asked how? He hummed and ha'd, and at last said that Smithson would advance me the money in a minute—that I should only have to sign a receipt for it, and need not pay him for years—not till I was of age, and not then if I did not like—that no one would be any the wiser—and he was going on with more in the same style, when I stopped him, by answering very abruptly, that such an arrangement was not to my taste, and that I was not yet reduced be borrowing money of my tailor.”
“Quite right, I am so glad you told him that,” interposed I; “what did he say then?”
“Something about not intending to offend me, and its being a thing done every day.”
“By him perhaps,” said I, recollecting the scene I had witnessed soon after my arrival.
“Why! what do you mean?” said Oaklands.
“I'll tell you when you have done,” replied I; “but I want to know how all this ended.”