"Come, Major, none of this nonsense—it won't do here," said the waiter, in an insolent tone. "Be off with you—there's gentlemen coming in."
"I care not who hears me!" cried the person thus addressed: "Mr. Crockford is within—I know he is; and I must see him."
"No—he's not here—and he never comes now," returned the waiter. "If you don't make yourself scarce, I'll call a policeman. Pray walk in, my lord—walk in, gentlemen."
These last words were addressed to Lord Dunstable and his party; but, instead of entering the Club, they remained on the steps to hear the issue of the dispute.
"Call a policeman—oh! do," ejaculated the Major. "I wish you would—for I should at least have a roof over my head to-night; whereas I now stand the chance of wandering about the streets. But you dare not give me in charge—no, you dare not! You know that I should expose all the infamy of this den before the magistrate to-morrow morning. However—in one word, will you deliver my message to Mr. Crockford?"
"I tell you that he is not here," repeated the waiter, insolently.
"Did you give him my note?" asked the Major, in an imploring tone.
"Yes—and he said there was no answer," replied the menial, placing his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat.
"My God! no answer for me!" cried the miserable man, in a voice of bitter despair. "No answer for me—and I lost so much in his house! Surely—surely he could spare a guinea from the thousands which he has received of me? I only asked him for a guinea—and he does not condescend to answer me!"
"Well, I tell you what it is," said the waiter, perceiving that not only Lord Dunstable's party lingered upon the steps, but that there was also another listener—a gentleman in a military cloak—standing at a short distance:—"if you will go away now, I'll give you half-a-crown out of my own pocket, and I will undertake that Mr. Crockford shall send you up a sovereign to-morrow."