"I know--I know. The young fool," returned Spiller a little angrily.
"Wine is Lancelot Vane's only weakness--well, not the only one, any
pretty face turns his head."

"He's not the worse for that provided a good heart goes with the pretty
face."

"Aye, _if_."

"Look after him then. When he awakens from his drunken fit he'll be like
clay in the hands of the potters."

"Faith, you're right, Mr. Gay, but there's one thing that'll protect
him--his empty purse. I doubt if he has a stiver left. I know he drew
some money from the _Craftsman_ yesterday."

"What, does he write for that scurrilous, venomous print?" cried Gay,
visibly disturbed.

"Not of his own will. He hates the paper and he hates Amherst, who owns
it. But what is a man to do when poverty knocks at the door?"

"That may be. Still--I wish he had nothing to do with that abusive
fellow, Nicholas Amherst, who calls himself 'Caleb D'Anvers,' why I know
not, unless he's ashamed of the name his father gave him. Do you know
that the _Craftsman_ is always attacking my friends, Mr. Pope, Dr.
Swift, Dr. Arbuthnot? As for myself--but that's no matter."

"Oh, Amherst's a gadfly, no doubt. But your friends can take care of
themselves. For every blow they get they can if it so pleases them, give