“Thank you, so much,” he said, thrusting it into his waistcoat pocket, “it’s very kind of you.”

“You will turn up to-morrow at lunch at one?” I said, as I put him into the little brougham.

“Yes, of course, yes,” he cried, and I turned away.

Next day at lunch he seemed to meet me with some embarrassment: 

“Frank, I want to ask you something.  I’m really confused about last night; we dined most wisely, if too well.  This morning I found you had given me a cheque, and I found besides in my waistcoat pocket a note for a hundred francs.  Did I ask you for it at the end?  ‘Tap’ you, the French call it,” he added, trying to laugh.

I nodded.

“How dreadful!” he cried.  “How dreadful poverty is!  I had forgotten that you had given me a cheque, and I was so hard up, so afraid you might go away without giving me anything, that I asked you for it.  Isn’t poverty dreadful?”

I nodded; I could not say a word:  the fact told so much.

The chastened mood of self-condemnation did not last long with him or go deep; soon he was talking as merrily and gaily as ever.

Before parting I said to him: 

“You won’t forget that you are going on Thursday night?”

“Oh, really!” he cried, to my surprise, “Thursday is very near; I don’t know whether I shall be able to come.”

“What on earth do you mean?” I asked.

“The truth is, you know, I have debts to pay, and I have not enough.”

“But I will give you more,” I cried, “what will clear you?”

“Fifty more I think will do.  How good you are!”

“I will bring it with me to-morrow morning.”

“In notes please, will you?  French money.  I find I shall want it to pay some little things at once, and the time is short.”

I thought nothing of the matter.  The next day at lunch I gave him the money in French notes.  That night I said to him: 

“You know we are going away to-morrow evening:  I hope you’ll be ready?  I have got the tickets for the Train de Luxe.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” he cried, “I can’t be ready.”

“What is it now?” I asked.

“Well, it’s money.  Some more debts have come in.”

“Why will you not be frank with me, and tell me what you owe?  I will give you a cheque for it.  I don’t want to drag it out of you bit by bit.  Tell me a sum that will make you free, and I will give it to you.  I want you to have a perfect six months, and how can you if you are bothered with debts?”

“How kind you are to me!  Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Really?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “tell me what it is.”

“I think, I believe ... would another fifty be too much?”

“I will give it you to-morrow.  Are you sure that will be enough?”

“Oh, yes, Frank; but let’s go on Sunday.  Sunday is such a good day for travelling, and it’s always so dull everywhere, we might just as well spend it on the train.  Besides, no one travels on Sunday in France, so we are sure to be able to take our ease in our train.  Won’t Sunday do, Frank?”