“No, suh, co’se I won’t!  Does I ever tell ’im ‘bout yo’ gwines-on?  Ef I did,” he added to himself, as the young man disappeared down the street, “I wouldn’ have time ter do nothin’ e’se ha’dly.  I don’ know whether I’ll ever see dat money agin er no, do’ I ’magine de ole gent’eman wouldn’ lemme lose it ef he knowed.  But I ain’ gwine ter tell him, whether I git my money back er no, fer he is jes’ so wrop’ up in dat boy dat I b’lieve it’d jes’ break his hea’t ter fin’ out how he’s be’n gwine on.  Doctuh Price has tol’ me not ter let de ole gent’eman git ixcited, er e’se dere’s no tellin’ w’at mought happen.  He’s be’n good ter me, he has, an’ I’m gwine ter take keer er him,—­dat’s w’at I is, ez long ez I has de chance.”

* * * * *

Delamere went directly to the club, and soon lounged into the card-room, where several of the members were engaged in play.  He sauntered here and there, too much absorbed in his own thoughts to notice that the greetings he received were less cordial than those usually exchanged between the members of a small and select social club.  Finally, when Augustus, commonly and more appropriately called “Gus,” Davidson came into the room, Tom stepped toward him.

“Will you take a hand in a game, Gus?”

“Don’t care if I do,” said the other.  “Let’s sit over here.”

Davidson led the way to a table near the fireplace, near which stood a tall screen, which at times occupied various places in the room.  Davidson took the seat opposite the fireplace, leaving Delamere with his back to the screen.

Delamere staked half of Sandy’s money, and lost.  He staked the rest, and determined to win, because he could not afford to lose.  He had just reached out his hand to gather in the stakes, when he was charged with cheating at cards, of which two members, who had quietly entered the room and posted themselves behind the screen, had secured specific proof.  A meeting of the membership committee was hastily summoned, it being an hour at which most of them might be found at the club.  To avoid a scandal, and to save the feelings of a prominent family, Delamere was given an opportunity to resign quietly from the club, on condition that he paid all his gambling debts within three days, and took an oath never to play cards again for money.  This latter condition was made at the suggestion of an elderly member, who apparently believed that a man who would cheat at cards would stick at perjury.

Delamere acquiesced very promptly.  The taking of the oath was easy.  The payment of some fifteen hundred dollars of debts was a different matter.  He went away from the club thoughtfully, and it may be said, in full justice to a past which was far from immaculate, that in his present thoughts he touched a depth of scoundrelism far beyond anything of which he had as yet deemed himself capable.  When a man of good position, of whom much is expected, takes to evil courses, his progress is apt to resemble that of a well-bred woman who has started on the downward path,—­the pace is all the swifter because of the distance which must be traversed to reach the bottom.  Delamere had made rapid headway; having hitherto played with sin, his servant had now become his master, and held him in an iron grip.