Fenton's acquaintance with the man had been confined to their
meetings in the card-room of the St. Filipe, but he had once or twice
carried home in his pocket very substantial tokens of Snaffle's
reckless play. Almost without being conscious of what he did, Fenton
stopped and extended his hand.
"Good evening," he said. "What is up? Are you ready for your revenge?"
"Oh, I'm always ready for a good game," Snaffle answered. "I was going
to see my best girl, but I don't mind taking a hand instead."
Fenton smiled as the other turned and walked with him toward the club,
but inwardly he loathed the fat, vulgar man at his side. His sense of
the fitness of things was outraged by his being obliged to associate
with such a creature, and that the obligation arose entirely from his
own will, only showed to his mind how helpless he was in the hands of
fate. He was outwardly gracious enough, but inwardly he nourished a
bitter hatred against Erastus Snaffle for constraining him to go
through this humiliation before he could win his money.
As they neared the club, Fenton recalled the fact that there had been
some talk about visitors, and that the presence of this very man had
been especially objected to, and reflected that in any case he had no
desire to be seen going in with him. As they entered the vestibule the
door was not opened for them, and Fenton's quick wit appreciated the
fact that the servant who should be sitting just inside, was not in his
place.
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