His eyes followed my gaze.

He burst into tears, and pushing me before him into a quiet corner of the saloon, sat down facing me.
"'Don't give me away, old man,' he whimpered; 'for Gawd's sake, don't let on to any of the chaps 'ere that I'm a member of that blessed old waxwork show in Saint James's: they'd never speak to me agen.

And keep yer mug shut about Oxford, there's a good sort.

I wouldn't 'ave 'em know as 'ow I was one o' them college blokes for anythink.' "I sat aghast.

I had listened to hear him entreat me to keep 'Smith,' the rorty 'Arry, a secret from the acquaintances of 'Smythe,' the superior person.