thought in these small sums instead of thinking in thousands.)

He was now a property owner.

Encouraged by this great and solemn fact, he went up one afternoon to
the club at Hillport. His entry was magnificent, superficially. No one
suspected that he was nervous under the ordeal. The truth is that no one
suspected because the place was empty. The emptiness of the hall gave
him pause. He saw a large framed copy of the "Rules" hanging under a
deer's head, and he read them as carefully as though he had not got a
copy in his pocket. Then he read the notices, as though they had been
latest telegrams from some dire seat of war. Then, perceiving a massive
open door of oak (the club-house had once been a pretty stately
mansion), he passed through it, and saw a bar (with bottles) and a
number of small tables and wicker chairs, and on one of the tables an
example of the _Staffordshire Signal_ displaying in vast letters
the fearful question:--"Is your skin troublesome?" Denry's skin was
troublesome; it crept. He crossed the hall and went into another room
which was placarded "Silence." And silence was. And on a table with
copies of _The Potter's World, The British Australasian, The Iron
Trades Review_, and the _Golfers' Annual_, was a second copy of
the _Signal_, again demanding of Denry in vast letters whether his
skin was troublesome. Evidently the reading-room.

He ascended the stairs and discovered a deserted billiard-room with two
tables. Though he had never played at billiards, he seized a cue, but
when he touched them the balls gave such a resounding click in the hush
of the chamber that he put the cue away instantly. He noticed another
door, curiously opened it, and started back at the sight of a small
room, and eight middle-aged men, mostly hatted, playing cards in two
groups. They had the air of conspirators, but they were merely some of
the finest solo-whist players in Bursley. (This was before bridge had
quitted Pall Mall.) Among them was Mr Duncalf. Denry shut the door
quickly. He felt like a wanderer in an enchanted castle who had suddenly
come across something that ought not to be come across. He returned to
earth, and in the hall met a man in shirt-sleeves--the Secretary and
Steward, a nice, homely man, who said, in the accents of ancient
friendship, though he had never spoken to Denry before: "Is it Mr
Machin? Glad to see you, Mr Machin! Come and have a drink with me, will
you? Give it a name." Saying which, t