‘My dear sir,’ said Phil, as he stood beside his father, laying his hand on his shoulder, ‘you have surely come to town unexpectedly? And but just in time to see me lose some money, or I am mistaken. Yesterday I won it—to-night (to make odds even) I am come to lose to the same man. Come, you shall watch our play, ’twill be fairish sport, I don’t doubt.’ They set them down—Phil and his opponent—and a circle gathered round them to watch their play. Philip played out of the sheerest love of excitement, like a schoolboy, laughing and jesting as he threw down his money, the other man more gravely, pondering his cards. The play ran high; Philip had staked and lost all the money he had with him, and yet he played on. It grew late. ‘Come, sir,’ he said, and he leant across the table towards his father, with his sunny smile, ‘I must play schoolboy again and have my father pay my debts.’ Meadowes, bewitched like every one else, handed him over all the gold pieces he carried, and thought himself well paid by Phil’s smile. ‘Now I’ve cleared out my father,’ he said, ‘and myself, I’ll play you for my lace ruffles, good ones they are; come on, sir,’ and he tore off the ruffles carelessly enough, and flung them on the table. ‘Now you’ll have my coat, ’tis a new silk one—there it goes,’ he cried, flinging off the fine garment in question, as he leant forward with sparkling eyes to cut the cards. ‘Lost again! My diamond shoe-buckles now—there—you have them also? Gad! I’ll be stripped before I’m done—well, the shoes themselves. Lost them too!’ and with a shout of laughter Phil flung down his cards and rose from the table. ‘I must get home without my shoes and without my coat!—I thank you; no, sir, I’d like the sensation. We’ll taste the sweets of poverty on a chill winter’s night for once—to walk home with empty pockets, without a coat or shoes. By George, that’s something new!’ ‘Phil, put on your coat; for all the world you act like a child,’ laughed his father. And Phil certainly looked babyish enough as he stood there shoeless, in his ruffled cambric shirt, laughing and careless. But Phil would not be persuaded. The coat was his no longer, said he, nor the shoes. ‘Come, sir, if you are going my way,’ he said, bowing to his father, and they stepped out into the passage together. ‘We may go so far in company,’ said Meadowes, as they passed out. The other men who had been in the room waited to exchange comments on the father and son, only Simon Prior, after a few minutes, found that it was growing late, and he must make his way homewards.