The latter started in dismay at the sight of our hero.  He thought he might be quietly eating breakfast ten miles away, unsuspiciously waiting for his return.  Was his brilliant scheme to fail?  He quickly took his resolution—­a foolish one.  He would pretend not to know Philip.

“Well, Professor Riccabocca,” Philip said, in a sarcastic tone, “you took rather a long walk this morning.”

The professor looked at him vacantly.

“Were you addressing me?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir,” answered Philip, justly provoked.

“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, young man.”

“I wish I hadn’t the pleasure of yours,” retorted Philip.

“Do you come here to insult me?” demanded Riccabocca, frowning.

“I came here to demand my share of the money received for the entertainment last evening, as well as the money paid for the hall, the printer, and bill-poster.”

“You must be crazy!” said Riccabocca, shrugging his shoulders.  “I don’t know you.  I don’t owe you any money.”

“Do you mean to say we didn’t give an entertainment together last evening at Wilkesville?” asked Philip, rather taken aback by the man’s sublime impudence.

“My young friend, you have been dreaming.  Prove what you say and I will admit your claim.”

Up to this point those present, deceived by the professor’s coolness, really supposed him to be in the right.  That was what Riccabocca anticipated, and hoped to get off before the discovery of the truth could be made.  But he did not know that Philip had a competent witness at hand.

“Mr. Gates!” called Philip.

The portly landlord of the Wilkesville Hotel entered the room, and Riccaboeca saw that the game was up.

“Mr. Gates, will you be kind enough to convince this gentleman that he owes me money?” asked Philip.

“I think he won’t deny it now,” said Gates significantly.  “He walked off from my hotel this morning, leaving his bill unpaid.  Professor Riccabocca, it strikes me you had better settle with us, unless you wish to pass the night in the lockup.”

Professor Riccabocca gave a forced laugh.

“Why, Mr. de Gray,” he said, “you ought to have known that I was only playing a trick on you.”

“I supposed you were,” said Philip.

“No, I don’t mean that.  I was only pretending I didn’t know you, to see if I could act naturally enough, to deceive you.”

“Why did you desert me?” asked Philip suspiciously.

“I started to take a walk—­didn’t the bookkeeper tell you?—­and finding a chance to ride over here, thought I would do so, and make arrangements for our appearance here.  Of course, I intended to come back, and pay our good friend, the landlord, and give you your share of the common fund.”

Neither Gates nor Philip believed a word of this.  It seemed to them quite too transparent.

“You may as well pay us now, Professor Riccabocca,” said the landlord dryly.