opulace as to the prospects
of their spotting a winner tomorrow," answered Mr. Starkey. "It's five
minutes to his hour now. Come in and drink till he comes. Want him?"

"A word with him," answered Spargo. "A mere word--or two."

He followed Starkey into a room which was so filled with smoke and
sound that for a moment it was impossible to either see or hear. But
the smoke was gradually making itself into a canopy, and beneath the
canopy Spargo made out various groups of men of all ages, sitting
around small tables, smoking and drinking, and all talking as if the
great object of their lives was to get as many words as possible out of
their mouths in the shortest possible time. In the further corner was a
small bar; Starkey pulled Spargo up to it.

"Name it, my son," commanded Starkey. "Try the Octoneumenoi very extra
special. Two of 'em, Dick. Come to beg to be a member, Spargo?"

"I'll think about being a member of this ante-room of the infernal
regions when you start a ventilating fan and provide members with a
route-map of the way from Fleet Street," answered Spargo, taking his
glass. "Phew!--what an atmosphere!"

"We're considering a ventilating fan," said Starkey. "I'm on the house
committee now, and I brought that very matter up at our last meeting.
But Templeson, of the _Bulletin_--you know Templeson--he says what we
want is a wine-cooler to stand under that sideboard--says no club is
proper without a wine-cooler, and that he knows a chap--second-hand
dealer, don't you know--what has a beauty to dispose of in old
Sheffield plate. Now, if you were on our house committee, Spargo, old
man, would you go in for the wine-cooler or the ventilating fan? You
see--"

"There is Crowfoot," said Spargo. "Shout him over here, Starkey, before
anybody else collars him."

Through the door by which Spargo had entered a few minutes previously
came a man who stood for a moment blinking at the smoke and the lights.
He was a tall, elderly man with a figure and bearing of a soldier; a
big, sweeping moustache stood well out against a square-cut jaw and
beneath a prominent nose; a pair of keen blue eyes looked out from
beneath a tousled mass of crinkled hair. He wore neither hat nor cap;
his attire was a carelessly put on Norfolk suit of brown tweed; he
looked half-unkempt, half-groomed. But knotted at the collar of his
flannel shirt were the colours of one of the most famous and exclusive
cricket clubs in the world, and everybody