“Jealousy be hanged! I tell you he’s a thief; and the Baron’s a thief; and, hang me, if I think his wife is any better. Eight-and-thirty pounds he won of me before supper; and made me drunk, and sent me home:—is THAT honorable? How can I afford to lose forty pounds? It’s took me two years to save it up—if my old aunt gets wind of it, she’ll cut me off with a shilling: hang me!”—and here Sam, in an agony, tore his fair hair. While bewailing his lot in this lamentable strain, his bell was rung, which signal being answered by a surly “Come in,” a tall, very fashionable gentleman, with a fur coat, and a fierce tuft to his chin, entered the room. “Pogson my buck, how goes it?” said he, familiarly, and gave a stare at me: I was making for my hat. “Don’t go,” said Sam, rather eagerly; and I sat down again. The Honorable Mr. Ringwood hummed and ha’d: and, at last, said he wished to speak to Mr. Pogson on business, in private, if possible. “There’s no secrets betwixt me and my friend,” cried Sam. Mr. Ringwood paused a little:—“An awkward business that of last night,” at length exclaimed he. “I believe it WAS an awkward business,” said Sam, dryly. “I really am very sorry for your losses.” “Thank you: and so am I, I can tell you,” said Sam. “You must mind, my good fellow, and not drink; for, when you drink, you WILL play high: by Gad, you led US in, and not we you.” “I dare say,” answered Sam, with something of peevishness; “losses is losses: there’s no use talking about ’em when they’re over and paid.” “And paid?” here wonderingly spoke Mr. Ringwood; “why, my dear fel—what the deuce—has Florval been with you?” “D—— Florval!” growled Sam, “I’ve never set eyes on his face since last night; and never wish to see him again.” “Come, come, enough of this talk; how do you intend to settle the bills which you gave him last night?” “Bills I what do you mean?” “I mean, sir, these bills,” said the Honorable Tom, producing two out of his pocket-book, and looking as stern as a lion. “‘I promise to pay, on demand, to the Baron de Florval, the sum of four hundred pounds. October 20, 1838.’ ‘Ten days after date I promise to pay the Baron de et caetera et caetera, one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. Samuel Pogson.’ You didn’t say what regiment you were in.” “WHAT!” shouted poor Sam, as from a dream, starting up and looking preternaturally pale and hideous. “D—— it, sir, you don’t affect ignorance: you don’t pretend not to remember that you signed these bills, for money lost in my rooms: money LENT to you, by Madame de Florval, at your own request, and lost to her husband? You don’t suppose, sir, that I shall be such an infernal idiot as to believe you, or such a coward as to put up with a mean subterfuge of this sort. Will you, or will you not, pay the money, sir?” “I will not,” said Sam, stoutly; “it’s a d——d swin—”