"I will, some time; not now," said Jack, looking remorseful. "I haven't the heart. I thought he would have found us out long ago. I wonder how he'll take it."
They had coffee and cigars, and presently Gilead Beck began telling about American trotting matches, which was interesting to everybody.
It was nearly twelve when Mr. Beck's guests departed.
Mr. Carlyle, in right of his seniority, solemnly "up and spake."
"Mr. Beck," he said, "you are a trump. Come down to the Derby with me, and we will show you a race worth twenty of your trotting. Good night, sir, you've treated us like a prince."
He grasped his hand with a grip which had all its youthful vigour, and strode out of the room with the step of early manhood.
"A wonderful man!" said Mr. Beck. "Who would have thought it?"
The rest shook hands in silence, except Mr. Ruskin.
"I am sorry, Mr. Beck," he said meekly, "that the nonsense I talked at dinner annoyed you. It's always the way if a fellow tries to be clever; he overdoes it, and makes himself an ass. Good night, sir, and I hope we shall meet on the racecourse next Wednesday."
Mr. Beck was left alone with Jack Dunquerque, the waiter, and the Twins still sleeping.