Away went the captain, as light hearted as a cricket, to sleep away the few remaining hours that intervened before another day wakes us all to our divers duties. Who has not noticed the punctuality of the banker’s clerks wending their way to their daily toil. Not quite so early as these, yet not much later, did the captain doff his night gear; then made his appearance at the banker’s, nothing doubting. He presents ‘the bit o’ writin’’ ‘Two twenties and ten in gold.’ The clerk puts forward his attenuated fingers, examines it: a pause ensues. How can it be? The date is right, and the autograph is genuine; but there is no order to pay it. ‘No order to pay it?’ echoed the captain, much annoyed. Between ourselves, the private mark was wanting: which was, perhaps, a pin hole, or not a pin hole. On the evening I have referred to, he received counters for this cheque, and was, already, deep in the game, when the _chef_ made his appearance. The above _ruse_ was frequently resorted to. It is customary to lend money to parties on cheque, or otherwise, if the applicants are considered safe. One of the visitors, who was passionately addicted to play and the turf, having lost his ready money, borrowed three hundred pounds in counters, and, having lost these also, gave a cheque for the amount; but with this condition, that it should not be sent in to his banker’s in the country for some few days. No sooner, however, was his back turned than an _employé_ was instructed to start off very early the following morning to get the cheque cashed; the date, which was left open, being first clapped in. The cheque was paid; and two or three nights afterwards the young gentleman came for an explanation of the circumstance, and to remonstrate. The poor _employé_, as usual, was made the scapegoat, and was roundly abused for his stupidity in not understanding that he was particularly ordered not to present it till further notice. It was the practice, also, to present post-dated cheques, which had been refused payment, and even to sue on them. Sometimes, after an evening’s play, a gentleman would find himself the winner of a couple of hundred pounds, when, all but folding up the notes, and preparing to go, he would find, to his mortification, a small account against him, of, perhaps, seventy or eighty pounds. ‘Eighty pounds! impossible! there must be some mistake.’ Expostulation was vain. ‘It is down in the book. It is perfectly correct, you may rest assured. I pledge you my honour of this.’ Sometimes it happened that a gentleman would borrow one hundred pounds, of course in counters, on a cheque or a short bill. Perhaps he might win thirty or forty pounds, in which case, the one hundred pounds in counters would be taken from him and his cheque returned, and he would be left to do his best with the small capital remaining to him, with the privilege of renewing the transaction, should he lose it. Counters, so borrowed, were not allowed to be lent to a friend.