The reader must not suppose when Cluffe said, ‘we of the Royal Irish,’ in connection with some pecuniary kindness shown to Sturk, that that sensible captain had given away any of his money to the surgeon; but Sturk, in their confidential conference, had hinted something about a ‘helping hand,’ which Cluffe coughed off, and mentioned that Puddock had lent him fifteen pounds the week before.

And so he had, though little Puddock was one of the poorest officers in the corps.  But he had no vices, and husbanded his little means carefully, and was very kindly and off-hand in assisting to the extent of his little purse a brother in distress, and never added advice when so doing—­for he had high notions of politeness—­or, in all his life, divulged any of these little money transactions.

Sturk stood at his drawing-room window, with his hat on, looking towards the Phoenix, and waiting for Cluffe’s return.  When he could stand the suspense no longer, he went down and waited at his door-steps.  And the longer Cluffe stayed the more did Sturk establish himself in the conviction that the interview had prospered, and that his ambassador was coming to terms with Nutter.  He did not know that the entire question had been settled in a minute-and-a-half, and that Cluffe was at that moment rattling away at backgammon with his arch-enemy, Toole, in a corner of the club parlour.

It was not till Cluffe, as he emerged from the Phoenix, saw Sturk’s figure stalking in the glimpses of the moon, under the village elm, that he suddenly recollected and marched up to him.  Sturk stood, with his face and figure mottled over with the shadows of the moving leaves and the withered ones dropping about him, his hands in his pockets, and a crown-piece—­I believe it was his last available coin just then—­shut up fast and tight in his cold fingers, with his heart in his mouth, and whistling a little to show his unconcern.

‘Well,’ said Sturk, ‘he won’t, of course?’

Cluffe shook his head.

‘Very good—­I’ll manage it another way,’ said Sturk, confidently.  ‘Good-night;’ and Sturk walked off briskly towards the turnpike.

‘He might have said “thank you,” I think,’ Cluffe said, looking after him with a haughty leer—­’mixing myself up in his plaguy affairs, and asking favours of fellows like Nutter.’  But just then, having reached the corner next the Phoenix, Sturk hesitated, and Cluffe, thinking he might possibly turn back and ask him for money, turned on his heel, and, like a prudent fellow, trudged rapidly off to his lodgings.

Toole and O’Flaherty were standing in the doorway of the Phoenix, observing the brief and secret meeting under the elm.

‘That’s Sturk,’ said Toole.

O’Flaherty grunted acquiescence.

Toole watched attentively till the gentlemen separated, and then glancing on O’Flaherty from the corner of his eye, with a knowing smile, ‘tipped him the wink,’ as the phrase went in those days.