“Oh I don’t retract,” said Campbell, with increased fierceness.  “It was upon the faith of your word that I ventured the bet against my own convictions.  I have traced the lady to Great King Street, where she resides, as the aunt of the boy; and I am satisfied that, in a case where the boy’s mother is alive, and now in her own house, he, of the age he is, never could have used the word mother or mamma, or any word of that import, to his father’s sister.  All power and energies are comparative.  This L10 cracks the spine of my fortune as effectually as ten times the amount.  I have not the money, and know no more where to find it than I do to get hold of the philosopher’s stone.  I repeat I have been cheated, and I demand of you the money.”

“Which you shall never get,” replied Dewhurst.  “I can swear that I heard the words.  They thrill on my ears now; and the best proof of my conviction is, that I am myself ruined.  Yes,” and he began to roll his eyes about, as the terrors of his situation came rushing upon him, on the wake of the now departing effects of the Rainbow wine—­“Yes, the swell, the fop, the leader of the college ton, whose coat came from the artistic study of Willis, whose necktie could raise a furore, whose glove, without a wrinkle, would condescend only to be touched by friendship on the tip of the finger, is now at the mercy of any one of twenty sleasy dogs, who can tell the sheriff I owe them money.  Money! why, I have only fifteen pounds in the wide world, and I must pay that to my landlady.”

As he uttered these last words, the door opened, and there stood before him a man with a blue coat, surmounted by a red collar.  He held a paper in his hand; his demeanour was deferential and exuberantly polite.

“That sum you have mentioned, sir,” he said, looking to the student, “with L10 added, will save you and me much trouble.  The debt to Mr. Reid is L25; and here is a certain paper which gives me the power to do an unpolite thing.  You comprehend?  I am an advocate for painless operations.”

“Will you accept the L15?” said Dewhurst, now scarcely able to articulate.

“Yes, if this gentleman here, who is, I presume, your friend, will kindly add the L10.  The expenses may stand.”

Campbell could only grin at this strange conversation.

“Unwilling?” continued the messenger.  “Ah, I see.  It is strange that when I devote myself to a gentleman, his friends fly away.  This is my misfortune.  Well, there is no help for it.  We must take a walk to the prison,” addressing himself to his debtor.  “You are a gentleman, and I shall be your servant in livery.”

Dewhurst braced himself with a violent effort, like a spasm, and took his hat.

“Give me the L10,” said Campbell.  “It will make no difference now.  There are no degrees in despair.”

“I must take care of my master’s money,” said the officer, with an attempt at a smile; and without going the full length of imitating that most philanthropic of all executors of the law, Simpson, who patted his victims on the back while he adjusted the rope, he added, “And now, sir, I am at your humble service.”