II
Whom should I meet in the street, within a few yards of the door of the inn where the Club was held, but the self-same young man whoso cause I had felt it my duty so warmly—and I will add so disinterestedly—to take up.
“Is it Mr. Sapsea,” he said doubtfully, “or is it—”
“It is Mr. Sapsea,” I replied.
“Pardon me, Mr. Sapsea; you appear warm, sir.”
“I have been warm,” I said, “and on your account.” Having stated the circumstances at some length (my generosity almost overpowered him), I asked him his name.
“Mr. Sapsea,” he answered, looking down, “your penetration is so acute, your glance into the souls of your fellow men is so penetrating, that if I was hardly enough to deny that my name is Poker, what would it avail me?”
I don’t know that I had quite exactly made out to a fractio
