“Thanks, very much,” said that gentleman, putting them in his pocket. “I find I’ve left your bill at home, but I’ll send it round to you in the morning.”
“Oh, all serene!” said Blandford, putting his pocketbook back into his pocket. “Have another bottle of cham—do—just to celebrate—settling—old scores. Hullo, where are you, Pillans?”
Pillans had gone off to play billiards with Mr Medlock, so Blandford and Mr Shanklin attacked the bottle themselves. When it was done, the former rose unsteadily, and, bidding his friend good-night, said he would go home, as he’d got a headache. Which was about as true an observation as man ever uttered.
“Good-night—old—feller,” said he; “see you to-morrow.”
And he staggered out of the place, assisted to the door by Mr Shanklin, who, after an affectionate farewell, sauntered to the billiard-room, where Mr Medlock had already won a five-pound note from the ingenuous Mr Pillans.
“Your friend’s in good spirits to-night,” said Mr Shanklin. “Capital fellow is Bland.”
“So he is,” said Pillans.
“Capital fellow, with plenty of capital, eh?” said Mr Medlock; “your shoot, Pillans, and I don’t mind going a sov. with you on the cannon.”
Of course Pillans lost his sovereign, as he did several others before the game was over. Then, feeling he had had enough enjoyment for one evening, he said good-bye and followed his friend home.
But some one else had already followed his friend home.