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The Club of Queer Trades
allows himself to be scored off for a guinea a night."
"And this fellow Wimpole—" began Drummond, with indignation.
"This fellow Wimpole," said Basil Grant, smiling, "will not be an intellectual rival in the future. He had some fine things, elegance and silvered hair and so on. But the intellect is with our friend on the floor."
"That fellow," cried Drummond, furiously—"that fellow ought to be in jail."
"Not at all," said Basil, indulgently; "he ought to be in the Club of Queer Trades."
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