“I congratulate you ’eartily,” he said, slapping Kimball on the shoulder in a jolly sort of way. “There isn’t many that could brag of having done Samuel Ardwick in the eye, but I always admit it when I come across my superior. There’s only one favour I want you to grant.” “You gave me the cheque, and I’ve got a perfect right to it. What we may have agreed upon beforehand has nothing whatever to do with the matter.” “All I ask you to do,” went on Mr. Ardwick, “is to allow me to celebrate the occasion by inviting you to have a little snack at a restaurant close by. A meal, I mean. A proper dinner. Food, and a bottle of something with it.” “This don’t sound like you,” remarked Kimball. “I shan’t make the offer twice,” warned Mr. Ardwick. Kimball strolled along with him rather reluctantly and somewhat suspiciously up Stoke Newington Road. Mr. Ardwick stopped outside an Italian eating-place, had a good look at the prices of everything in a brass frame near the doorway, gave a deep sigh, and led the way in. It was here that, in my opinion, Mr. A. made a blunder; he admitted himself to me later that he was not acquainted with the quality of the wine or the capacity of his friend Kimball. The foreign waiter, being told confidentially that price was an object, recommended a quarter-bottle of what he called Vin Ordinaire at sevenpence. It was only when Kimball was starting on the fourth of these that Mr. Ardwick discovered he could have sent out for a full bottle at the cost of one-and-nine. He himself took no food and no beverage of any description, but just sat back, smoking the cigar, totting up the expenses, and keeping a watchful eye on his guest. “Is it a fruity wine?” asked Mr. Ardwick, when the last quarter-bottle was opened. Kimball lifted up his glass. “I shouldn’t like to say there was much of that about it,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, it doesn’t taste of anything.” “But surely it goes to your head!” “It goes to my head,” agreed Kimball, “because I put it there; but it don’t seem to have any effect on the brain. Sheer waste of my time, so far as I can gather.” “Look here!” said Mr. Ardwick, with a determined effort. “I want to have a quiet talk with you. I’ve stood this very excellent meal, and it’s only right you should do something for me in return.” “Anything within reason.” “I’m not the man to ask you to do anything else. You’ve had your little joke at my expense and now my suggestion is that you hand across the five pounds, and we’ll both have a good laugh over the transaction. I admit you played your part uncommonly well. You ran it rather close, and if you’d been a minute or so later, my lad, you’d have found the bank closed, and then I could have stopped payment.” “I got there,” said Kimball, “at one minute past four, and the doors were shut!” Mr. Ardwick settled up, and told Kimball exactly what he thought of him. “Imposing on generosity,” he said heatedly—“that’s your game!”