“If it wasn’t so public here, I’d like to read a few of the best passages in Wolsey’s part.”

“Can’t we get a private room?” said one of the two young men who had joined Bland and Green.  “There are plenty in the house.  I’ll see.”

And away he went to the bar.

“Come,” he said, returning in a few minutes; and the party followed a waiter up stairs, and were shown into a small room, neatly furnished, though smelling villanously of stale cigar smoke.

“This is cosy,” was the approving remark of Bland, as they entered.  Hats and overcoats were laid aside, and they drew around a table that stood in the centre of the room under the gaslight.  A few passages were read from Shakspeare, then drink was ordered by one of the the party.  The reading interspersed with critical comments, was again resumed; but the reading soon gave way entire to the comments, which, in a little while, passed from the text of Shakspeare to actors, actresses, prima donnas, and ballet-dancers, the relative merits of which were knowingly discussed for some time.  In the midst of this discussion, oysters, in two or three styles, and a smoking dish of terrapin, ordered by a member of the company—­which our young friend Green did not know—­were brought in, followed by a liberal supply of wine and brandy.  Bland expressed surprise, but accepted the entertainment as quite agreeable to himself.

After the supper, cigars were introduced, and after the cigars, cards.  A few games were played for shilling stakes.  Green, under the influence of more liquor than his head could bear, and in the midst of companions whose sphere he could not, in consequence, resist, yielded in a new direction for him.  Of gambling he had always entertained a virtuous disapproval; yet, ere aware of the direction in which he was drifting, he was staking money at cards, the sums gradually increasing, until from shillings the ventures increased to dollars.  Sometimes he won, and sometimes he lost; the winnings stimulating to new trials in the hope of further success, and the losses stimulating to new trials in order to recover, if possible; but, steadily, the tide, for all these little eddies of success, bore him downwards, and losses increased from single dollars to fives, and from fives to tens, his pleasant friend, Bland, supplying whatever he wanted in the most disinterested way, until an aggregate loss of nearly a hundred and fifty dollars sobered and appalled him.

The salary of Martin Green was only four hundred dollars, every cent of which was expended as fast as earned.  A loss of a hundred and fifty dollars was, therefore, a serious and embarrassing matter.

“I’ll call and see you to-morrow, when we can arrange this little matter,” said Mr. Bland, “on parting with Green at his own door.  He spoke pleasantly, but with something in his voice that chilled the nerves of his victim.  On the next day while Green stood at his desk, trying to fix his mind upon his work, and do it correctly, his employer said,—­