"So do I, my lord——hic," stammered Egerton, catching joyfully at the chance of an immediate escape from the place where fortunes were so speedily engulphed;—for tipsy as he now was again, the idea of his losses was uppermost in his mind.
"Well, my lord—well gentlemen," said Crockford, bowing deferentially; "I wishes you all a wery good night—or rather morning. But perhaps your friend, my lord, would just give me his little I. O. U.——"
"Oh! certainly, he will" interrupted Dunstable. "Here, Egerton, my boy—give your I. O. U. for the two thousand——"
"I'd ra-a-ther—hic—give my draft," returned the young man.
But, as his hand trembled and his visual faculties were duplicated for the time, he was ten minutes ere he could fill up a printed cheque in a proper manner.
The business was, however, accomplished at last, and the party withdrew, amidst the bows of decoy-ducks, croupiers, waiters, groom-porters, door-porters, and all the menials of the establishment.
William Crockford was the founder of the Club which so long bore his name, and which was only broken up a short time ago.
He began life as a fishmonger; and when he closed his shop of an evening, was accustomed to repair to some of the West End hells, where he staked the earnings of the day. Naturally of a shrewd and far-seeing disposition, he was well qualified to make those calculations which taught him the precise chances of the hazard-table; and a lucky bet upon the St. Leger suddenly helped him to a considerable sum of ready money, with which he was enabled to extend his ventures at the gaming-house.
In due time he gave up the fish-shop, and joined some hellites in partnership at the West End. Fortune continued to favour him; and he was at length in a condition to open No. 50, St. James's Street, as a Club.