nd that Barter always lost.

The men of Hawks' Boost talked pretty freely about each other in the
absence of such of their fellow clubmen as were under discussion. Barter
was spoken of as Steinberg's Mug, Berg's Juggins, Stein's Spoofmarker.
It was generally admitted that Stein made a good thing out of him, and
the wonder was where Barter got his money. There was a pretty general
apprehension that the young man, at no very far future date, would come
to grief. The contemplation of this probability affected the Boosters
but little in an emotional way, but it made them keen to see that
Mr. Barter paid up punctually, and though they were very shy of paper
acceptances from their comrades as a general thing, they were shyer of
his than of most men's.

These things Philip Bommaney junior attentively noted. At first the
clubmen rather wondered at him. He was in their precincts often,
and would smoke his pipe and watch whatever game might be going with
tranquil interest, but he never played, and could not be induced to bet.
_Que diable faisant-il dans cette gaiere?_ the clubmen wanted to know.
He never told them, and in a while they grew accustomed to him and
his ways. He continued his quiet watch upon Mr. Barter, and included
Steinberg in his field of observation. One evening, dining at the old
restaurant, he marked Barter, melancholy and alone. He was sitting in an
attitude of apparent dejection, tapping upon the table with a fork, and
deep sunk in what seemed to be an uncomfortable contemplation. But when
the moth saw his candle he brightened, and fluttered over to it.

'You might come over,' said Barter, when they had sat together until the
latest of the dining guests had gone away. 'You might come over to my
chambers and smoke a cigar if you've nothing else to do. I don't care
about going down to the club tonight.'

The Steinberg spider was supposed to be waiting there, coldly patient
and insatiable, and Barter dreaded him. Philip had never entered the
rooms, but they had an attraction for him. He accepted his companion's
invitation, and they entered the chambers together. A fire lingered
in the grate, and Barter replenished it, and, having produced a box of
cigars and a bottle of cognac, proffered refreshment to his guest. The
honest man began somewhat to recoil from himself and from his companion.
What was he there for? The answer was pretty evident. There was nothing
between this loud-babbling youth and himself which