"Why, Gus, old man, where _did_ you spring from? I didn't know you were
in London."
"Ain't I, though!" replied Gus, tapping the end of his cigarette on his
cane. "But what are you up to, Tom?--you're not going in here, are
you?" pointing over his shoulder to the theatre.
"Well, no," said Tom; "that is," added he, with as much of a swagger as
he could assume on the spur of the moment, "I had been half thinking of
just seeing what it was like. Some of our fellows, you know, fancy the
place."
How suddenly and easily he was, under the eyes of these two "swells,"
casting off the few slender cords that still held him moored to the
shore.
"Oh, don't go in there," said Gus, with a look of disgust; "it's the
slowest place in London--nothing on but that old fool Shakespeare's
plays, or somebody's equally stupid. You come along with us, Tom, we'll
take you to a place where you'll get your money's worth and no mistake.
Won't we, Jack?"
The youth appealed to as Jack answered with a most affected drawl, and
with an effort which appeared to cause him no little fatigue, "Wathah."
"Come along," said Gus, lighting a fresh cigarette.
Tom was uncomfortable. He would not for worlds seem unwilling to go,
and yet he wished he could get out of it somehow.
"Very kind of you," he said, "I'd like it awfully; but I must get back
to do some work, you know, I've an exam coming on. It's an awful
nuisance!"
"Why, I thought you were going in here, in any case!" said Gus.
"Ah--well--yes, so I was, just for a little, to see what sort of affair
it was; but I meant to be home by nine."
"Well, just have a squint in at our place; and if you must go, you must.
Come along, old man; cut work for one evening, can't you? You've
become an awfully reformed character all of a sudden; you usen't to be
so hot on your books."
Tom had no ambition before these two to figure in the light of a
reformed character, and he therefore abandoned further protest, and
proceeded to accompany Gus and his friend down the street.
"Have a weed?" asked Gus.
"Thanks, I hardly ever smoke," said Tom.
"They're very mild," said Gus, with a sneer.
Tom took the proffered cigar without another word, and did his best
first to light and then to smoke it as if he were an experienced smoker.
"Who's your fwend?" inquired Gus's languid acquaintance.
"By the way," said that young man, "I've never introduced you two.
Mortimer, allow me to introduce you to my friend Tom Drift."
Mr Mortimer gave a nod which Tom felt he would like greatly to have at
his command, there was something so very knowing and familiar about it.
"It was Tom got up that little race party I was telling you of, Jack,
you know. He's a regular sporting card. By the way, what's become of
that little mooney-face prig we took with us that day; eh, Tom?"
Tom was out in midstream now, floating fast out to sea.
"Who--oh, young Newcome?" said he; "he's still at Randlebury."
"Young puppy! You never knew such a spree as that was, Jack," said Gus;
and then he launched forth into a highly-spiced account of the eventful
expedition to Gurley races, contriving to represent Tom as the hero of
the day, greatly to that youth's discomfort and confusion, and no less
to the amusement of Mr Mortimer.
"Here we are at last," said Gus, as the trio arrived at a gorgeously
illuminated and decorated restaurant.
Tom's heart sunk within him. More than ever did he wish himself back in
his dull lodgings, never again to set foot abroad, if only he could have
got out of this fix. But there was no drawing back.
"Shall we go in yet, or knock the balls about for a bit?" said Gus.
"This fellow Tom's a regular swell at billiards. Do you remember
thrashing me last time we met, Tom--the summer after I'd left
Randlebury?"
Tom could not deny he had beaten Gus on the occasion referred to, and
felt it was useless for him to protest--what was the case--that he was
only a very indifferent player. He agreed to the idea of a game,
however, as he hoped he might at its close be able to make his escape
without accompanying his two companions to the music-hall attached to
the restaurant, and which he already knew by reputation as one of the
lowest entertainments in London. "You two play," said Gus, "and I'll
mark. You'll have to give Jack points, Tom, you know, you're such a
dab."
It was vain for Tom to disclaim the distinction, and the game began.
"Hold hard!" said Gus, after the first stroke; "what are you playing
for?"
"Weally, I don't know; thillingth, I thuppothe," lisped Mr Mortimer.
"All serene! Go on."
And they went on, and Mr Mortimer made no end of misses, so that, in
spite of the points he had received, Tom beat him easily. In the two
games which followed the same success attended him, and he won all the
stakes.
"Didn't I tell you he was a swell?" said Gus. "Upon my word, Tom, I
don't know how you do it!"
"It's just the sort of table I like to play on," said Tom, elated with
his success, and unwilling to own that half his lucky shots had been
"flukes."
"I tell you what," said Gus; "you owe me my revenge, you know, from last
time. I'll play you to-morrow for half-crowns, if you'll give me the
same points as you did to Jack."
Tom was fast nearing the breakers now. He had nothing for it but to
accept the challenge, and the table was consequently engaged for the
next evening.
"I must be off now, you fellows!" he said.
"Nonsense! Why, you haven't yet seen the fun below. You must stay for
that."
"I wish I could," faltered Tom; "but I really must do some reading to-
night."
"So you can; the thing only lasts an hour, and you're not obliged to go
to bed at eleven, are you?"
Still Tom hesitated.
"You don't mean to say you are squeamish about it?" said Gus, in
astonishment. "I could fancy that young friend of your mother's turning
up _his_ eyes at it, but a fellow like you wouldn't be so particular, I
reckon; eh, Jack?"
And Mr John Mortimer, thus appealed to, laughed an amused laugh at the
bare notion.
That laugh and the term, "a fellow like you," destroyed the last of
Tom's wavering objections, and he yielded.