“Merciful heavens!” cried Herbert; “I had no idea it was as bad as that; but can nothing be done to save him?”
“I fear not,” replied the elder brother, sadly; “and now, Herbert, I shall say no more. You must choose your own course; but remember that our poker club meets to-night in the room over Cassidy’s Exchange, and you must—”
“Yes, and drop another double X,” exclaimed Herbert, bitterly.
“And learn the great lesson of life,” said John, “that in this vale of tears the hand that shapes our destiny will ofttimes beat three of a kind.”
And with these impressive words John Dovetail departed, leaving his brother still twirling the engraved card between his fingers and hesitating.
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed at last, “I don’t care what John says. I’m sick of his preaching, anyhow; and besides I’m not going to get the Society habit fastened on me through just one kettledrum! I’ll go there just to see what it’s like.”
That afternoon Herbert tasted of the forbidden intoxicant of feminine flattery, drank five cups of tea, and ate four pieces of sticky cake. He was introduced to a leader of the Chromo Literary Set, who told him that she “adored clever men,” and begged him to come to her next Sunday evening reception. Then he allowed himself to be patronized by a dude who copied letters in a broker’s office by day and led the cotillion by night; and he had not been in the drawing-room half an hour before his mind became affected by the “Society talk” going on about him to such a degree that he found himself chuckling in a knowing manner at an idiotic story about Ollie Winkletree, of the Simian Club.
It was at this moment that the warning words of his brother John suddenly came back to him, and he realized that it was time to go.
He had no appetite for dinner that night—the tea and the sticky cake had done their work; and instead of joining the poker class over Cassidy’s Exchange, he sat down by the fire to brood over the new life that was opening before him. The Society bee—the most malevolent insect in the world’s hive—had stung him under his bonnet, the poison was already in his veins, and when John returned at midnight from the poker meeting his brother addressed him as “deah boy.”