"What are you going to do this evening?"
I had to admit, rather against my will, that I had no particular plans
and did not know what to do with myself.
"You had better come and dine with me," he said. "I haven't anything on
to-night, and we might just as well have a bit of dinner together and
go somewhere afterwards, if you feel inclined."
The invitation was given so frankly and cordially that I accepted it
without any fuss, being only too glad of the prospect of a cheerful
evening instead of mooning about by myself. It never occurred to me
that I knew nothing whatever about Captain Wyngate, and that he might
not prove so reputable an acquaintance as he looked.
We took a cab and drove to a queer little French restaurant, quite
unlike anything I had ever seen, in a back street in Soho. In a
general way I regarded the typical London restaurant as a big, showy
establishment, with a profusion of electric lights, flowers on the
tables, and everyone in evening dress. The place chosen by Captain
Wyngate was entirely different. It was up two pairs of very narrow
stairs covered with a red carpet, and seemed to be made up of quite
poky little rooms. We were shown into one containing only a small table
set for two, a sideboard, and a sofa.
"They seem to be expecting us," I remarked, with a laugh.
"Oh, they know my ways here," Wyngate replied, as he proceeded to
question the waiter in French, which was a good deal too fluent for me
to follow.
There was a surprisingly elaborate menu for such a little hole of a
place, and it was with feelings of considerable satisfaction that
I plunged into the dinner. It was admirably cooked and beautifully
served--in fact, it was about the best dinner I had ever tasted; and
by the time I had absorbed my second glass of Burgundy I was feeling
particularly well-disposed towards humanity in general and my host
in particular. Without seeming to question me at all, he showed such
a friendly interest in me that the champagne found us on quite an
intimate footing. Before the coffee and cigars came, and the waiter had
left us alone, Captain Wyngate knew all about me, and I had a strong
impression that he was preordained to be my guide, philosopher, and
friend.
When I bemoaned my fate at being kept on short commons until I came of
age, he smiled.
"You needn't unless you like," he said.
"I've heard of fellows borrowing on their expectations," I replied;
"but it costs a lot, doesn't it? And I don't know anything about that
sort of thing."
"Oh, it's simple enough," he remarked, casually, flicking the ash off
his cigar.
"I might get into some old Jew's clutches," I remarked.
"My dear fellow," he replied, "all those stories about modern Shylocks
are rubbish. You must have been reading about the man in Balzac who was
fool enough to take a bit in cash and the rest in stuffed crocodiles.
All that sort of thing is over now, and if you have anything solid
in the way of expectations you can always raise money on them from
reliable people."
Then, as if the subject did not interest him, he began to talk about
something else; but he had set me thinking. Half-a-dozen times at least
I was on the point of asking him to help me, but I did not want him
to think me hopelessly inexperienced in business matters. At length I
said:--
"Do you know, I have been thinking of raising a little money, and now
that I am in town I might as well see about it."
"If you have made up your mind," he said, "there is no use in losing
time. To whom do you intend to go?"
This was a poser. I had the vaguest possible ideas about money-lenders,
and did not know the name of a single member of the fraternity.