"Nor I," said young McGregor. "By George, wouldn't the old man look half-a-dozen ways at once if he thought I would dare look at it twice."
There was a smile on Captain Cavendish's face, half of amusement, half of contempt.
"I am going there now, and was about asking you to accompany me for an hour's amusement. Come on, better late than never."
Charley hesitated, coloring and laughing, but McGregor caught at the invitation at once.
"I say, Marsh, let us go! I've always wanted to go there, but never had a chance without the governor finding it out, and kicking up the deuce of a row!"
"I have the entree," said Captain Cavendish; "no one will be the wiser, and if they should, what matter? It is only to kill time, after all."
But still Charley hesitated, half laughing, half tempted, half reluctant. "That is all very well from Captain Cavendish, nephew of a baronet, and with more money than he knows what to do with; but it's of no use going to that place with empty pockets, and medical students, it is proverbial, never have anything to spare. No, I think you must hold me excused."
"Oh, confound it, Charley," exclaimed McGregor, impatiently, "I'll lend you whatever you want. Fetch him along, captain; what he says is only gammon."
"Perhaps," said the captain, with a cynical smile, "Mr. Marsh has conscientious scruples—some people have, I am told. If so——"
He did not finish the sentence, but the smile deepened. That mocking smile did more to overthrow Charley's resolution than any words could have done. He turned at once in the direction of Prince Street: "The only scruples I know anything about relate to weights and measures, and I believe these are in a dram. I have a couple of hours before dinner; so until then, I am at your service, captain."