a word handed him my pouch, while the others drew nearer.
Nothing was to be heard but the water oozing out and in beneath the
house-boat. Gilray pushed the tobacco from him, as he might have pushed
a bag of diamonds that he mistook for pebbles. I placed it against his
arm, and motioned to the others not to look. Then I sat down beside
Gilray, and almost smoked into his eyes. Soon the aroma reached him,
and rapture struggled into his face. Slowly his fingers fastened on the
pouch. He filled his pipe without knowing what he was doing, and I
handed him a lighted spill. He took perhaps three puffs, and then gave
me a look of reverence that I know well. It only comes to a man once in
all its glory--the first time he tries the Arcadia Mixture--but it never
altogether leaves him.

"Where do you get it?" Gilray whispered, in hoarse delight.

The Arcadia had him for its own.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

MARRIOT.

[Illustration]

I have hinted that Marriot was our sentimental member. He was seldom
sentimental until after midnight, and then only when he and I were
alone. Why he should have chosen me as the pail into which to pour his
troubles I cannot say. I let him talk on, and when he had ended I showed
him plainly that I had been thinking most of the time about something
else. Whether Marriot was entirely a humbug or the most conscientious
person on our stair, readers may decide. He was fond of argument if you
did not answer him, and often wanted me to tell him if I thought he was
in love; if so, why did I think so; if not, why not. What makes me on
reflection fancy that he was sincere is that in his statements he would
let his pipe go out.

Of course I cannot give his words, but he would wait till all my other
guests had gone, then softly lock the door, and returning to the cane
chair empty himself in some such way as this:

"I have something I want to talk to you about. Pass me a spill. Well, it
is this. Before I came to your rooms to-night I was cleaning my pipe,
when all at once it struck me that I might be in love. This is the kind
of shock that pulls a man up and together. My first thought was, if it
be love, well and good; I shall go on. As a gentleman I know my duty
both to her and to myself. At present, however, I am not certain which
she is. In love there are no degrees; of that at least I feel positive.
It is a tempestuous, surging passion, or it is nothing. The question for
me, therefore, is,