"Never mind, Nick, my boy," that Ames used to say when be came with some new thing in bis head—" never mind, Nick, my boy; we'll marry you to a rich woman one of these days. And then I'll buy your pictures for you, be hanged if I don't."
You see, the man knew where to get him; for if there was one thing Nicky Steele never could stand against, it was a compliment about the women. The most ordinary creature alive could turn his head with a word. I don't think a vainer man ever was born into this world. He'd clothes enough to stock a theatre; and when I saw him, as I did often, standing before his glass like a schoolgirl dressing for her first party, I could have laughed in his face. If ever Jack Ames wanted money of him, he'd wheedle him with some story of a female who was after his beaux yeux, as he called it. And there wasn't a woman he knew who didn't flatter him outrageously, and laugh at what she'd done when his back was turned.
Well, it was by some tale of a woman that Ames got him down to Trouville; he paying the expenses, you may be pretty sure. The pair were away about a week, and when they came back, I knew that a good deal of money had been spent. He was very down in the mouth, and talked about going to try his luck in America, and other stuff. He got to work on the champagne, too, and I began to have the old trouble with him.
"What am I doing here?" he raved. It was the
