'And a good riddance!' Pomeroy cried with an oath. 'He's off it, is he? He gives up?'
The tutor nodded gloomily. 'His lordship is not the man,' he said, with an attempt at his former manner, 'to--to--'
'To win the odd trick unless he holds six trumps,' Mr. Pomeroy cried. 'No, by God! he is not. You are right, Parson. But so much the better for you and me!'
Mr. Thomasson sniffed. 'I don't follow you,' he said stiffly.
'Don't you? You weren't so dull years ago,' Mr. Pomeroy answered, filling a glass as he stood. He held it in his hand and looked over it at the other, who, ill at ease, fidgeted in his chair, 'You could put two and two together then, Parson, and you can put five and five together now. They make ten--thousand.'
'I don't follow you,' the tutor repeated, steadfastly looking away from him.
'Why? Nothing is changed since we talked--except that he is out of it! And that that is done for me for nothing, which I offered you five thousand to do. But I am generous, Tommy. I am generous.'
'The next chance is mine,' Mr. Thomasson cried, with a glance of spite.
Mr. Pomeroy, looking down at him, laughed--a galling laugh. 'Lord! Tommy, that was a hundred years ago,' he said contemptuously.
'You said nothing was changed!'