“You’re precious fond of plays,” sneered the junior.

“I’m fond of everything I pay for, young fellow,” replied the shaken senior; “and that’s a bit of enjoyment you’ve got to learn—­ain’t it?”

“Well, don’t you knock by me again, that’s all,” cried the choleric youth.

“You don’t think I’m likely to stop in your company, do you?”

“Whose expense have you been drinking at?”

“My country’s, young fellow; and mind you don’t soon feed at the table.  Let me go.”

Algernon’s hunger was appeased by the prospect of some excitement, and seeing a vicious shake administered to the old man by the young one, he cried, “Hands off!” and undertook policeman’s duty; but as he was not in blue, his authoritative mandate obtained no respect until he had interposed his fist.

When he had done so, he recognized the porter at Boyne’s Bank, whose enemy retired upon the threat that there should be no more pushing past him to get back to seats for the next act.

“I paid,” said Anthony; “and you’re a ticketer, and you ticketers sha’ n’t stop me.  I’m worth a thousand of you.  Holloa, sir,” he cried to Algernon; “I didn’t know you.  I’m much obliged.  These chaps get tickets given ’m, and grow as cocky in a theatre as men who pay.  He never had such wine in him as I’ve got.  That I’d swear.  Ha! ha!  I come out for an airing after every act, and there’s a whole pitfall of ticketers yelling and tearing, and I chaff my way through and back clean as a red-hot poker.”

Anthony laughed, and rolled somewhat as he laughed.

“Come along, sir, into the street,” he said, boring on to the pavement.  “It’s after office hours.  And, ha! ha! what do you think?  There’s old farmer in there, afraid to move off his seat, and the girl with him, sticking to him tight, and a good girl too.  She thinks we’ve had too much.  We been to the Docks, wine-tasting:  Port—­Sherry:  Sherry—­Port! and, ha! ha! ‘what a lot of wine!’ says farmer, never thinking how much he’s taking on board.  “I guessed it was night,” says farmer, as we got into the air, and to see him go on blinking, and stumbling, and saying to me, ‘You stand wine, brother Tony!’ I’m blest if I ain’t bottled laughter.  So, says I, ’come and see “The Holly Berries,” brother William John; it’s the best play in London, and a suitable winter piece.’  ’Is there a rascal hanged in the piece?’ says he.  ‘Oh, yes!’ I let him fancy there was, and he—­ha! ha! old farmer’s sticking to his seat, solemn as a judge, waiting for the gallows to come on the stage.”

A thought quickened Algernon’s spirit.  It was a notorious secret among the young gentlemen who assisted in maintaining the prosperity of Boyne’s Bank, that the old porter—­the “Old Ant,” as he was called—­possessed money, and had no objection to put out small sums for a certain interest.  Algernon mentioned casually that he had left his purse at home; and “by the way,” said he, “have you got a few sovereigns in your pocket?”