'What? You've got ambitions still? You want to be climbing? Man alive! it's too late. You've stayed away from your friends too long. You can't get up. Better join us at the _Salutation_ Club. Come in with me. I'll introduce you. They'll be glad to have you. Intellectual conversation carried on nightly. Romantic scenery from the back window. Finest parlour in London. Come in and sample the Scotch.--Not want a drink? Who ever saw a man who didn't want a drink?' The other man followed, reluctantly--and at sight of him Checkley jumped in his chair. Then he snatched the paper from the hands of the ancient barrister, and buried his head in it. The action was most remarkable and unmistakable. He hid himself behind the paper; for the man whom the Cambridge scholar was dragging into the room was none other than Athelstan Arundel--the very man of whom Mr. Dering had been speaking that very afternoon: the very man whose loss he had been regretting: the man accused by himself of forgery. So great was his terror at the sight of this man that he was fain to hide behind the paper. Yes: the same man: well dressed, apparently, and prosperous--in a velvet jacket and a white waistcoat, with a big brown beard--still carrying himself with that old insolent pride, as if he had never forged anything: looking not a day older, in spite of the eight years that had elapsed. What was he doing here? 'Come in, man,' said Freddy again. 'You shall have one drink at least, and as many more as you like.--Robert, two Scotch and soda. We haven't met for eight long years. Let us sit down and confess our sins for eight years. Where have you been?' 'For the most part--abroad.' 'You don't look it. He who goes abroad to make his fortune always comes home in rags, with a pistol in his coat-tail, and a bowie-knife in his belt. At least we are taught so. You wear velvet and fine linen. You haven't been abroad. I don't believe you've been farther than Camberwell. In fact, Camberwell has been your headquarters. You've been living in Camberwell--on Camberwell Green, which is a slice of Eden, with--perhaps--didn't pretty Polly Perkins live on Camberwell Green?--for eight long years.' 'Let me call upon you in your lodgings, where we can talk. 'I haven't got any lodgings. I am in Chambers--I live all by myself in Gray's Inn. Come and see me. I am always at home in the mornings--to pupils only--and generally at home in the afternoon to pupils and topers and Lushingtons. Here's your whisky. Sit down. Let me introduce you to the company. This is a highly intellectual society--not what you would expect of a Holborn Parlour. It is a club which meets here every evening--a first-class club. Subscription, nothing. Entrance fee, nothing. Order what you like. Don't pretend not to know your brother-members.--Gentlemen, this is my old friend, Mr. Athelstan Arundel, who has been abroad--on Camberwell Green--for the sake of Polly Perkins--for eight years, and has now returned.'