I looked into "Collins'" eyes; gave him a wink, as much as to say, "Mr. Payne thinks my name is Wilson; you know better; keep still." Of course "Collins" was as anxious that I should not call him Blanchard, as I was that he should address me as Wilson. "And," he said, "Mr. Wilson--I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wilson. Let's fill up, Mr. Payne," for their mugs were dry, "and invite Mr. Wilson to take what he likes with us." "Thank you, gentlemen, but here comes my beer. I'll wait for you to fill up again." I put "Collins" quite at ease, and we drank, and told stories, and sang a song or two. So well did Collins and I disguise the fact that we had ever heard of each other that Payne, as he afterwards told me, made up his mind soon that I had been utterly mistaken in the man. We had nearly finished our cups at the table, when Payne, spying a southern friend coming into the saloon, with a number of others, asked to be excused for a moment, and left us. "The devil!" said Blanchard; "how did you come to know Payne?" "O, he is one of the acquaintances one picks up in the city, he hardly knows how." "Yes, yes; but as I happened, by the mistake of a partial acquaintance, to be introduced to him as 'Collins,' I have let it go so. I hope you'll be as careful the rest of the evening to not call me Blanchard, as you have." "O, we are in the same boat, 'Collins,' you see! He calls me 'Wilson,' and I let it go at that." "But," said Blanchard, "I must say, 'Wilson,' you are very complaisant, and I hardly thought you would speak to me at all." "O, well, Blanchard, we grow wiser as we grow older. We don't see things, generally, in the same light we used to." "True," said he; "and I am glad to find you not unkindly disposed,"--and I doubt not that he was, for he well knew how I loved my cousin, and that I knew he was the cause of her husband's downfall, and her greatest griefs. "What are you doing these days?" asked B. "I've turned lawyer," said I, "and have an office on Wall Street. Here's my card. Don't like my profession over much, and so find time to speculate more or less." (Blanchard had never known that I had become a detective, fortunately. Though living in the same city we had been, practically, as wide apart as the poles.) "What are _you_ doing?" I asked in turn. "Well, I am speculating, too, a little," said he, with a half-inquiring wink in his eyes. "I see you misinterpret me a little," said I. "Not so much either," I continued, "for I speculate in Wall Street some, and elsewhere some." "The fact is," said 'Collins,' "I am getting to be very much attracted by sundry speculations, though I lose money as fast as I make it. I was on my way to-night on a little speculation. Perhaps you'd like to go along." In paying for my beer I had purposely made display of all the money I had,--quite a pile,--and doubtless Collins' gambling avarice was a little whetted, or he might not have invited me along.