"Oh, yes," cried Hash, his face clearing, "I do remember, now. Come to think of it, I ran across Underbunk in the Ticktock Club, just yesterday."
Up ran that confounded little Maltravers and shouted, "Come along, dad."
Now I do not object to that appellation in the privacy of our home, for the lad is very fond of me, but I do wish he would not be so demonstrative in public. Still, it is simply extra pay for the amusement I have had taking him on tours of exploration through the toy-stores. It is well for Cecil Hash that he never saw me in a toy-store, judging from the effect of our present meeting, for he had to push his crop down his throat to save himself from choking to death. I wanted to wipe up the bridle-path with him, but controlled myself, and said, in a dignified way, "Come along, children."
As I began to move away, with one in each hand, Cecil asked me to join him at the Ping-pong Club at three, for billiards. It was hard to have to own up that I had resigned, but there was nothing else to do. He was astonished, tremendously astonished, but was too well-bred to show it other than by staring at me with wide-open eyes.
"Well?" said I.
That aroused him. "We'll miss you, old man; miss you terribly," said he, as if he meant it. "Thank Heaven, we can still meet at the Cholmondeley and cut each other's throats at bridge."
He quite touched me. "We can meet," said I, "but not at bridge, unless you care to play a penny a point. I only play for a penny a point now."
Even the pony jumped, but I suppose that was because his rider gave such a long whistle.
"Mudison," said Cecil, "you don't mean to tell me that you have stopped playing for money?"