s on the other, with a look
of intense but not angry significance, said, "How often have I told you,
Beecher, that it was no use to try a 'double' with me? Why, man, I know
every card in your hand."

"I give you my sacred word of honor, Grog--"

"To be renewed at three months, I suppose?" said Davis, sneeringly. "No,
no, my boy, it takes an earlier rise to get to the blind side of Kit
Davis. I 'm not angry with you for trying it,--not a bit, lad; there 's
nothing wrong in it but the waste of time."

"May I be hanged, drawn, and quartered, if I know what you are at,
Grog!" exclaimed the other, piteously.

"Well, all I can say is _I_ read _you_ easier than _you_ read _me_.
_You_ gave old Lazarus a thousand pounds for that book after reading
that paragraph in the 'Times.'"

"What paragraph?"

"I mean that about your brother's title not being legal."

"I never saw it,--never heard of it," cried Beecher, in undisguised
terror.

"Well, I suppose I 'm to believe you," said Davis, half reluctantly.
"It was in a letter from the Crimea, stating that so confident are the
friends of a certain claimant to the title and estates now enjoyed by
Lord Lackington, that they have offered the young soldier who represents
the claim any amount of money he pleases to purchase promotion in the
service."

"I repeat to you my word of honor, I never saw nor heard of it"

"Of course, then, I believe you," said Grog.

Again and again did Beecher reiterate assurances of his good faith;
he declared that during all his stay at Aix he had never looked into
a newspaper, nor had he received one single letter, except from Davis
himself; and Davis believed him, from the simple fact that such a
paragraph as he quoted had no existence,--never was in print, never
uttered till Grog's own lips had fashioned it.

"But, surely, Grog, it is not a flying rumor--the invention of some
penny-a-liner--would find any credence with _you?_"

"I don't know," said Davis, slowly; "I won't say I 'd swear to it all,
but just as little would I reject it as a fable. At all events, I gave
you credit for having trimmed your sails by the tidings; and if you did
n't, why, there's no harm done, only you 're not so shrewd a fellow as I
thought you."

Beecher's face grew scarlet; how near, how very near, he was of being
"gazetted" the sharp fellow he had been striving for years to become,
and now, by his own stupid admission, had he invalidated his claim to
that high