Hundred waxed dangerous for the fifties; it dwarfed them to such
insignificance that it made them lose their self-respect. So, Algernon,
pursuing excellent tactics, set his mind upon some stray shillings that
he had a remainder of five pounds borrowed from old Anthony, when he
endeavoured to obtain repayment of the one pound and interest dating from
the night at the theatre. Algernon had stopped his mouth on that point,
as well as concerning his acquaintance with Dahlia, by immediately
attempting to borrow further, whenever Anthony led the way for a word in
private. A one-pound creditor had no particular terrors for him, and he
manoeuvred the old man neatly, saying, as previously, "Really, I don't
know the young person you allude to: I happened to meet her, or some one
like her, casually," and dropping his voice, "I'm rather short--what do
you think? Could you?--a trifling accommodation?" from which Anthony
fled.

But on the day closing the Epsom week he beckoned Anthony secretly to
follow him out of the office, and volunteered to give news that he had
just heard of Dahlia.

"Oh," said Anthony, "I've seen her."

"I haven't," said Algernon, "upon my honour."

"Yes, I've seen her, sir, and sorry to hear her husband's fallen a bit
low." Anthony touched his pocket. "What they calls 'nip' tides, ain't
it?"

Algernon sprang a compliment under him, which sent the vain old fellow
up, whether he would or not, to the effect that Anthony's tides were not
subject to lunar influence.