"I am a man of the world," said Molken, "and I was last night in one of those shops, what you call them--paradise; no, the other thing--hell--where they have the spinning thing--the Roulette--and the Rouge et Noir, and _cætera_. I do not mean to say that I was gambling. Oh, no! I was at the bar having a glass of Judenlip, when lo! and behold! down through the green door, with a burst, comes a young man I knew. He was like yourself, Mr. Worboise, a clerk in a counting-house." Thomas winced, but said nothing. He regarded his business as he ought to have regarded himself, namely, as something to be ashamed of. "Well, he comes up to me, and he says, 'Herr Molken, we are old friends; will you lend me a sovereign?' 'No,' I said, 'Mr.--,'--I forget the young man's name, but I did know him--' I never lend money for gambling purposes. Get the man who won your last sovereign to lend you another. For my own part, I've had enough of that sort of thing,' For you see, Mr. Thomas, I _have_ gambled in my time--yes, and made money by it, though I spent it as foolishly as I got it. You don't think I would spend my time in teaching _Ich habe, Du hast_, if I hadn't given up gambling. But university men, you know, learn bad habits." "What did he say to that?" asked Thomas. "He swore and turned away as if he was choking. But the fact was, Mr. Verbose, I hadn't a sovereign in my possession. I wasn't going to tell him that. But if I had had one, he should have had it; for I can't forget the glorious excitement it used to be to see the gold lying like a yellow mole-hill on the table, and to think that one fortunate turn might send it all into your own pockets." "But he didn't choke, did he?" said Thomas, weakly trying to be clever.