"Damme, who'd a thought you'd end up a swindler, Clotworthy?" Alan marveled. "I'd have put you down for nothing higher than amuser back when we were caterwauling in '79."

"Might as well be a pickpocket or a handkerchief snatcher," Clotworthy sniffed. "Never steal out of need. Amusers blow snuff in some cully's eyes, beat him up into the bargain, and elope with what they can get. Now a true artist, such as I, only accept payment for my services. That's not true stealing. I mean, damme, Alan! What good's an education if you can't use it fer yer own improvement?"

"And since you did so poorly in school…" Rushton supplied, waiting for the expected tag line that was almost Chute's cri de coeur.

"A man's got to be good at something, don't ye know?" Chute bellowed, and shook with amusement at his own well-tried jape.

"Well, the last of the last bottle," Rushton said, sharing the last of the wine into their glasses. "Port, cheese, the house's specialty sherry trifle? Or should we just pay up and head for the nearest bagnio and get ourselves stuck into some bareback riders?"

"I must confess I'm most pleasantly stuffed," Alan replied, with not an inch more room for dessert or cheese and biscuit.

'Too much food stifles the blood's humors," Clotworthy added, burping gently. "Let's pass on dessert and stroll supper off. Time enough for a cold collation after the whores."

"Afraid you'll have to roister without me tonight, gentlemen," Alan said, waving for the waiter and digging for his purse.

"Ah, an assignation, is it?" Rushton teased, digging him in the ribs. "Who is it tonight, then? Lady Cantner, or the lovely and so-edible Dolly Fenton?"

"Now that would be telling." Alan grinned with an air of • mystery. Besides half-pay and prize money from his naval service, he could always count on the generosity of women whose husbands or keepers were too busy about their public affairs to pay proper suit to their private amours.