and gave it to him.
"Thank you, so much," he said, thrusting it into his waistcoat pocket,
"it's very kind of you."
"You will turn up to-morrow at lunch at one?" I said, as I put him into
the little brougham.
"Yes, of course, yes," he cried, and I turned away.
Next day at lunch he seemed to meet me with some embarrassment:
"Frank, I want to ask you something. I'm really confused about last
night; we dined most wisely, if too well. This morning I found you had
given me a cheque, and I found besides in my waistcoat pocket a note for
a hundred francs. Did I ask you for it at the end? 'Tap' you, the French
call it," he added, trying to laugh.
I nodded.
"How dreadful!" he cried. "How dreadful poverty is! I had forgotten that
you had given me a cheque, and I was so hard up, so afraid you might go
away without giving me anything, that I asked you for it. Isn't poverty
dreadful?"
I nodded; I could not say a word: the fact told so much.
The chastened mood of self-condemnation did not last long with him or go
deep; soon he was talking as merrily and gaily as ever.
Before parting I said to him:
"You won't forget that you are going on Thursday night?"
"Oh, really!" he cried, to my surprise, "Thursday is very near; I don't
know whether I shall be able to come."
"What on earth do you mean?" I asked.
"The truth is, you know, I have debts to pay, and I have not enough."
"But I will give you more," I cried, "what will clear you?"
"Fifty more I think will do. How good you are!"
"I will bring it with me to-morrow morning."
"In notes please, will you? French money. I find I shall want it to pay
some little things at once, and the time is short."
I thought nothing of the matter. The next day at lunch I gave him the
money in French notes. That night I said to him:
"You know we are going away to-morrow evening: I hope you'll be ready? I
have got the tickets for the _Train de Luxe_."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he cried, "I can't be ready."
"What is it now?" I asked.
"Well, it's money. Some more debts have come in."
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