Old Shepherd came after the boy. When he saw that it was his turn he did a very curious thing. He got off his chair and he went on to his knees, and he said-- "I am going to pray." He closed his eyes, and he clasped his hands in front of him. I suppose he prayed. I know we stared. Pendarvon was shaking with laughter--it was with soundless laughter for once in a way. I suppose that the man prayed for at least five minutes. I wonder that we were still so long. I was on the point of politely requesting him to cut it short when he rose from his knees. He put his hand into the bag. He drew a blank. "My prayer," he said, "has not been answered. I fear, sometimes, that it will remain unanswered to the end." What he meant it is not for me to say. It was plain that, as I have observed already, he was stark mad. In the next chair was Teddy Hibbard. He turned to Shepherd-- "I say, old chap, what was it you wanted?" "The Honour of the Club. I am waiting and watching and hoping for the end." "Are you? Then if I get it I'll give it you; a beginning's more my line." He also drew a blank. When he perceived what it was he held it out towards Pendarvon and winked, "I'm not sorry." With a dexterous movement he threw it across the table, so that if Pendarvon had not put up his hand and stopped it it would have struck him in the face. "Put that in your pipe and smoke it, see." When Silvester took the bag he began to shake it. "We're getting warm." He turned to Shepherd. "I echo what Teddy's said. If I draw the Honour of the Club I'll pass it on to you." Shepherd shook his head. "That will not do. I must draw the lot myself." Silvester held out the bag to him. "Would you like to have another try?" "I must draw it, in due order, in my proper turn." "It strikes me that you're not quite so anxious as you make out. I don't mind owning that my anxiety is all the other way. I should like to have a little longer run before I earn my diploma." He drew a blank. Next to him sat Archie. Silvester passed him the bag, with a laugh--a queer laugh, which had in it a hysteric note. "Try your luck, Beaupré--three shies a penny!" Archie looked him in the face. "There is no necessity for me to try my luck, Silvester. I know it before I try. I knew it before I came into this room. You fellows drawing was but a mere matter of form. I am to draw the Honour of the Club. It is written in the skies." His voice rang through the room. I noticed that Pendarvon tugged at his beard, and stared at him, as if he could not make him out. But I, knowing the man as I did, knew his mood. Slipping his hand quickly into the bag, in an instant he drew it out. Without glancing at the card which he had drawn he held it up to us between his fingers. "See! The Honour of the Club!" It was. There was silence. Approaching the card to his face, Archie touched it with his lips.