Englishman somehow conveyed the impression that he would not expect to be treated in return by his new acquaintance, who was prepared to take advantage of his liberality. To do him justice, Hanbury’s complacence was not entirely due to spirituous longings, but to a homesick instinct aroused by the Cockney accent of the vulgar stranger.
The garish underground saloon into which they descended was almost empty at that early hour of the evening. Drinks having been set before them at one of the circular tables, the host subjected his guest to a scrutiny so searching that its object broke into a laugh.
“You are sizing me up pretty closely,” he remarked, with a touch of annoyance.
“Exactly; but not so as to give offence, I hope,” was the reply. “I should like to know your name, if you have no objection.”
“Hanbury—Charles Hanbury. Perhaps you will make the introduction mutual?” said the younger man, appeased by the other’s conciliatory manner.
“Call me Jevons,” the stout man answered. “Now look here, Mr. Hanbury; it’s not my game to begin our acquaintance under false pretences. The fact is, I contrived that you
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