cing, and (more important still) a prospect of winning and losing
large sums of money, was suddenly withdrawn from the eyes of the British
people. The "South" could produce no second opponent worthy of the North
out of its own associated resources. Surveying the athletic world in
general, but one man existed who might possibly replace "Tinkler"--and
it was doubtful, in the last degree, whether he would consent to come
forward under the circumstances. The name of that man--Julius read it
with horror--was Geoffrey Delamayn.

Profound silence reigned in the coffee-room. Julius laid down the
newspaper, and looked about him. The waiter was busy, in his corner,
with a pencil and a betting-book. The three gentlemen were busy, at the
three tables, with pencils and betting-books.

"Try and persuade him!" said the waiter, piteously, as Delamayn's
brother rose to leave the room.

"Try and persuade him!" echoed the three gentlemen, as Delamayn's
brother opened the door and went out.

Julius called a cab and told the driver (busy with a pencil and a
betting-book) to go to the Cock and Bottle, Putney. The man brightened
into a new being at the prospect. No need to hurry him; he drove,
unasked, at the top of his horse's speed.

As the cab drew near to its destination the signs of a great national
excitement appeared, and multiplied. The lips of a people pronounced,
with a grand unanimity, the name of "Tinkler." The heart of a people
hung suspended (mostly in the public houses) on the chances for and
against the possibility of replacing "Tinkler" by another man. The
scene in front of the inn was impressive in the highest degree. Even the
London blackguard stood awed and quiet in the presence of the national
calamity. Even the irrepressible man with the apron, who always turns up
to sell nuts and sweetmeats in a crowd, plied his trade in silence, and
found few indeed (to the credit of the nation be it spoken) who had
the heart to crack a nut at such a time as this. The police were on the
spot, in large numbers, and in mute sympathy with the people, touching
to see. Julius, on being stopped at the door, mentioned his name--and
received an ovation. His brother! oh, heavens, his brother! The people
closed round him, the people shook hands with him, the people invoked
blessings on his head. Julius was half suffocated, when the police
rescued him, and landed him safe in the privileged haven on the inner
side of the public house door. A