The footpad and the resurrectionist now persuaded Dick to go to another tavern, where they opened the way for his apparently extemporaneous performances, and where they raised good sums for him. He wondered at first at the zeal with which they worked to enrich him, but he presently saw that they, pretending to be chance observers, were quietly making bets with other spectators on the results of certain of his card manipulations. He thereupon left off, and escaped from this undesired partnership. But he now engaged an honest, impoverished hack writer, whom he met in an eating-cellar, to sit at tavern tables with him and appear an interested observer of his card tricks, enlist the crowd's attention, and suggest the inevitable passing around of the hat. This combination continued for a week, during which time the low taverns were visited in succession, from Whitefriars to St. Catherine's, from Cripplegate to Southwark. Dick's earnings consisted only of what the spectators willingly gave for their amusement, but at the week's end that amount sufficed for the purchase of a good suit of clothes at a tailor's in the Strand, and for another purpose besides, which Dick, once more clad like a gentleman, speedily set out upon. He went boldly back to Pall Mall, ran across several acquaintances to whom Lord George Winston had made him known, and got one of them to introduce him to a certain respectable-looking house in Covent Garden; and in that house, whose interior showed an activity not promised by its outside, he won at faro an amount that filled every other player at the table with resentful envy. When he left, he felt himself again a made man; his pockets were heavy with money. The night was well advanced when he issued from the gambling-house, enjoying the relief and the fresh air after the excitement and heat of the rooms. He walked to the Strand and turned towards Temple Bar, intending to sup at the Turk's Head Coffee-house. When he reached the Strand end of Catherine Street, he was accosted, with more than ordinary importunity, by one of the most miserable-looking of the frail creatures that walked the street there. As he was in the act of avoiding her, she called out his name in sudden recognition, and he then knew her as the gay young woman of High Holborn whom he had met at Vauxhall.