This seemed all fair and
reasonable; and as Sponge conned matters over, through the benign influence
of the ''baccy,' he really thought Facey mightn't be such a bad beggar
after all.
'Well, then,' said he, as he finished cigar and glass together, 'if you'll
give me eight-and-twenty bob, I'll be off to Bedfordshire.'
'You'll give me my revenge surely!' exclaimed Facey, in pretended
astonishment.
'To-morrow night,' replied Sponge firmly, thinking it would have to go hard
with him if he remained there to give it.
'Nay, _now_!' rejoined Facey, adding, 'it's quite early. Me Oncle Gilroy
and I always play much later at Queercove Hill.'
Sponge hesitated. If he had got the money, he would have refused
point-blank; as it was, he thought, perhaps the only chance of getting it
was to go on. With no small reluctance and misgivings he mixed himself
another tumbler of gin and water, and, changing seats, resumed the game.
Nor was our discreet friend far wrong in his calculations, for luck now
changed, and Facey seemed to have the king quite at command.
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