Egerton now insisted upon taking the box again; and in a few minutes he had not a fraction left of the thousand pounds which he had borrowed.
He turned away from the table and sighed deeply.
"Glass of claret, sir?" said the waiter, as composedly as if he were offering the wine through civility and not for the systematic purpose of washing away a remorse.
Egerton greedily swallowed the contents of a goblet; and when he looked again towards the table, he was astounded to find another bundle of Bank notes thrust into his hand by the obliging Mr. Crockford, who said in his blandest tones, "I think you vas vaiting, sir, for more monies."
"Take it—take it, old chap," whispered Dunstable: "you can turn that second thousand into ten."
"Or into nothing—like the first," murmured Egerton, with a sickly smile: but still he took the money.
He then played rapidly—wildly—desperately,—drinking wine after each new loss, and inwardly cursing his unlucky stars.
The second thousand pounds were soon gone; and Dunstable whispered to Crockford, "That's enough for to-night. We must make him a member in a day or two—and then you'll give me back the little I. O. U. you hold of mine."
"Certainly—certainly," answered the hell-keeper. "But mind you doesn't fail to bring him again."
"Never fear," returned Dunstable;—then turning towards his party, he said aloud, "Well, I think it is pretty nearly time to be off."