Years and philosophy, of which he had his share, had dimmed the recollection of his defeat at the Hotch Potch, and now in his thoughts it was enshrined as the Queen of Clubs. He would have been a member all these years himself, but, owing to the slipshod way his proposer, Jack Herring, had gone to work, they had not known what they were doing in keeping him out. Why! they had taken his son Jo at once, and he believed the boy was still a member; he had received a letter dated from there eight years ago.

He had not been near the Disunion for months, and the house had undergone the piebald decoration which people bestow on old houses and old ships when anxious to sell them.

“Beastly colour, the smoking-room!” he thought. “The dining-room is good!”

Its gloomy chocolate, picked out with light green, took his fancy.