billiards.  At all events there must have been something more, for the Captain afterwards declared he was ruined in less than an hour, fleeced, cheated of his little all!  It is quite possible that he was nothing of the kind, and that the acquaintances were perfectly honest and honourable men.  They would not know he could not afford to lose, a true Polkington always set out to hide the reality of his poverty.  And he was not likely to win, he seldom did, no matter at what he played or with whom; he was constitutionally unlucky—­or incapable, which is a truer name for the same thing—­it had always been so, even as far back as the old times in India.  That day he lost at something, that at least was clear; then there was more whisky and soda and more losses, and perhaps more whisky again; and so on until late in the afternoon, he found himself standing, miserable and bewildered, in the main street of the town.  Some one had brought him there, a good-natured young fellow who thought, not that he had spent all he ought, but that he had drunk all he should.

“Not used to it, you know,” he had said with good-humoured apology; “been rusticating out of the way so long.  Better come out and get a breath of air, it’ll pull you together.”

And he persuaded him out, walked some way down the street with him and then, seeing that he seemed all right, left him and went to attend to his own business.

For a little the Captain stood where he was, the depression, begotten of whisky and his losses, growing upon him in the old overwhelming way.  No one took any notice of him; passers by jostled against him, for the pavement was rather narrow, but no one paid any attention to him.  The bustle bewildered his weak head, and the noise and movement of the traffic in the roadway irritated him unreasonably.  A youth ran into him and he exploded angrily with sudden weak unrestrained fury.  Thereat the boy laughed, and, when he shouted and stamped his foot, ran away saying something impudent.  The Captain turned to run after him shaking his stick; but he was stiff and rheumatic and weak on his legs, too, just now.  It was no use to try and run.  Of course it was no use, nothing was any use now, he was a miserable failure, he could not even run after a boy; he must bear every one’s taunts; he could almost have wept in self-pity.  Then he became aware that several passers by were looking at him curiously, arrested by the noise he had made.  Annoyed and ashamed he turned his back on them and pretended to be examining the goods in a shop window near.

It was a large draper’s, rather a cheap one; the better shops were higher up the street.  In this one the things were all priced and labelled plainly; the Captain at first did not notice this one way or the other; he simply looked in to cover his confusion.  But after a little he became aware of what he looked at, and it recalled to his mind the fact that he was going to buy something for Julia.  He did not