my bell: and — and my man was at Vauxhall last night with
one of my dress shirts and my velvet waist-coat on, I know
It was mine — the confounded Impudent blackguard — and he
went on dancing before my eyes, confound him! I'm sure
he '11 live to be hanged — he deserves to be hanged — all those
infernal rascals of valets."

He was very kind to Altamont now: he listened to the
Colonel's loud stories when Altamont described how — when
he was working his way home once from New Zealand, where
he had been on a whaling expedition — he and his comrades
had been obliged to shirk on board at night, to escape from
their wives, by Jove — and how the poor devils put out in
their canoes when they saw the ship under sail, and paddled
madly after her: how he had been lost In the bush once for
three months In New South Wales, when he was there once on
a trading speculation : how he had seen Boney at Saint He-
lena, and been presented to him with the rest of the officers
of the Indlaman of which he was a mate — to all these tales
(and over his cups Altamont told many of them; and, it must
be owned, lied and bragged a great deal) Sir Francis now
listened with great attention; making a point of drinking wine
with Altamont at dinner and of treating him with every dis-
tinction.



223



"Leave him alone, I know what he 's a-comingto," Alta-
mont saidj laughing to Strong, who remonstrated with him,
"and leave me alone; I know what I'm a-telling, very well.
I was officer on board an Indiaman, so I was ; I traded to New
South Wales, so I did, in a ship of my own, and lost her.
I became officer to the Nawaub, so I did; only me and my
royal master have had a difierence. Strong — that's it.
Who 's the better or the worse for what I tell? or knows any-
thing about me? The other chap is dead — shot in the bush,
and his body reckonised at Sydney. If I thought anybody
would split, do you think I wouldn't wring his neck? I 've
done as good before now. Strong — I told you how I did for
the overseer before I took leave — but in fair fight, I mean —
in fair fight; or, rayther, he had the best of it. He had his
gun and bay'net, and I had only an axe. Fifty of 'em saw it —
aye, and cheered me when I did it — and I 'd do it again, —
him, wouldn't I? I ain't afraid of anybody; and I'd have
the life of the man who split upon me. That 's my maxim, and
pass me the liquor — You wouldn't turn on a man. I know
you. You 're an honest feller, and will stand by a feller, and
have looked death in the face like a man. But as for that lily-
livered sneak — that poor lyin' swindlin' cringin' cur of a
Clavering — who stands in my shoes — stands in my shoes,
hang him! I '11 make him pull my boots off and clean 'em,
I will. Ha, ha!" Here he burst out into a wild laugh, at
which Strong got up and put away the brandy-bottle. The
other still laughed good-humouredly. "You 're right, old
boy," he said; "you always keep your head cool, you do —
and when I begin to talk too much — I say, when I begin to
pitchf I authorise you, and order you, and command you, to
put away the rum-bottle.

"Take my counsel, Altamont," Strong said, gravely,
"and mind how you deal with that man. Don't make it too



22A



much his interest to get rid of you ; or who knows what he
may do?"

The event for which, with cynical enjoyment, Altamont
had been on the look-out, came very speedily. One day,
Strong being absent upon an errand for his principal. Sir
Francis made his appearance in the chambers, and found the
envoy of the Nawaub alone. He abused the world in general
for being heartless and unkind to him: he abused his wife for
being ungenerous to him: he abused Strong for being un-
grateful — hundreds of pounds had he given Ned Strong —
been his friend for life and kept him out of gaol, by Jove, —
and now Ned was taking her ladyship's side against him and
abetting her in her infernal unkind treatment of him.
'' They 've entered into a conspiracy to keep me penniless,
Altamont," the Baronet said: "they don't give me as much
jjocket-money as Frank has at school."

"Why don't you go down to Richmond and borrow of him,
Clavering? " Altamont broke out with a savage laugh. "He
wouldn't see his poor old beggar of a father without pocket-
money, would he?"

"I tell you, I 've been obliged to humiliate myself cruelly,"
Clavering said. "Look here, Sir — look here, at these pawn-
tickets! Fancy a Member of Parliament and an old English
Baronet, by Gad; obliged to put a drawing-room clock and a
Buhl inkstand up the spout; and a gold duck's head paper-
holder, that I dare say cost my wife five pound, for which
they 'd only give me fifteen-and-six I Oh, it 's a humiliating
thing, Sir, poverty to a man of my habits ; and it 's made me
shed tears. Sir, — tears ; and that d — d valet of mine — curse
him, I wish he was hanged! — has had the confounded
impudence to threaten to tell my lady: as if the things
in my own house weren't my own, to sell or to keep, or



225



to fling out of window if I chose — by Gad ! the confounded
scoundrel.

" Cry a little ; don't mind cryin' before me — it '11 relieve
you, Clavering," the other said. "Why, I say, old feller,
what a happy feller I once thought you, and what a miserable
son of a gun you really are ! "

"It's a shame that they treat me so, ain't it," Clavering
went on, — for, though ordinarily silent and apathetic, about
his own griefs the Baronet could whine for an hour at a time.
"And — and, by Gad, Sir, I haven't got the money to pay
the very cab that 's waiting for me at the door; and the por-
teress, that Mrs. Bolton, lent me three shillin's, and I don't
like to ask her for any more: and I asked that d — d old
Costigan, the confounded old penniless Irish miscreant,
and he hadn't got a shillin', the beggar; and Campion's
out of town, or else he 'd do a little bill for me, I know he
would."

"I thought you swore on your honour to your wife that you
wouldn't put your name to paper," said Mr. Altamont, puffing
at his cigar.

"Why does she leave me without pocket-money then?
Damme, I must have money," cried out the Baronet. "Oh,
Am — , Oh, Altamont, I'm the most miserable beggar
alive.*'

"You 'd like a chap to lend you a twenty-pound note,
wouldn't you now? " the other asked.

"If you would, I 'd be grateful to you for ever — for ever,
my dearest friend," cried Clavering.

"How much would you give? Will you give a fifty-pound
bill, at six months, for half down and half in plate," asked
Altamont.

"Yes I would, so help me — , and pay it on the day,"
Pendennis, III. 15



226

screamed Clavering. "I '11 make It payable at my banker's:
I '11 do anything you like."

"Well, I was only chaffing you. I'll give you twenty
pound."

"You said a pony," interposed Clavering; "my dear
fellow, you said a pony, and I '11 be eternally obliged to you;
and I '11 not take it as a gift — only as a loan, and pay you
back in six months. I take my oath Iwill."

" Well — well — there 's the money. Sir Francis Clavering.
I ain't a bad fellow. When I 've money in my pocket, dammy,
I spend it like a man. Here 's five-and- twenty for you. Don't
be losing it at the hells now. Don't be making a fool of your-
self. Go down to Clavering Park, and it '11 keep you ever so
long. You needn't 'ave butchers' meat: there's pigs, I dare
say, on the premises : and you can shoot "rabbits for dinner,
you know, every day till the game comes in. Besides, the
neighbours will ask you about to dinner, you know, some-
times: for you are a Baronet, though you have outrun the
constable. And you 've got this comfort, that / 'm ofi* your
shoulders for a good bit to come — p'raps this two years — if
I don't play; and I don't intend to touch the confounded
black and red : and by that time my lady, as you call her —
Jimmy, I used to say — will have come round again; and
you'll be ready for me, you know, and come down hand-
somely to yours truly."

At this juncture of their conversation Strong returned,
nor did the Baronet care much about prolonging the talk,
having got the money: and he made his way from Shepherd's
Inn, and went home and bullied his servant in a manner so
unusually brisk and insolent, that the man concluded his
master must have pawned some more of the house furniture,
or, at any rate, have come into possession of some ready
money.



227

"And yet I've looked over the house, Morgan, and I
don't think he has took any more of the things," Sir Francis's
valet said to Major Pendennis's man, as they met at their Club
soon after. "My lady locked up a'most all the befews afore
she went away, and he couldn't take away the picters and
looking-glasses in a cab: and he wouldn't spout the fenders
and fire-irons — he ain't so bad as that. But he 's got money
somehow. He 's so dam'd imperent when he have. A few
nights ago I sor him at Vauxhall, where I was a polkin with
Lady Hemly Babewood's gals — a wery pleasant room that is,
and an uncommon good lot in it, hall except the 'ousekeeper,
and she 's methodisticle — I was a polkin — you 're too old
a cove to polk, Mr. Morgan — and 'ere 's your 'ealth —
and I 'appened to 'ave on some of Clavering's abberdashery,
and he sor it too: and he didn't dare so much as speak a
word."

"How about the house in St. John's Wood? " Mr. Morgan
asked.

"Execution in it. — Sold up hevery thing: ponies, and
pianna, and Brougham, and all. Mrs. Montague Rivers
hofF to Boulogne, — non est inwentus, Mr. Morgan. It's
my belief she put the execution in herself: and was tired of
him."

"Play much?" asked Morgan.

"Not since the smash. When your Governor, and the
lawyers, and my lady and him had that tremenduous scene:
he went down on his knees, my lady told Mrs. Bonner, as
told me, — and swoar as he never more would touch a card
or a dice, or put his name to a bit of paper ; and my lady was a
goin' to give him the notes down to pay his liabilities after the
race: only your Governor said, (which he wrote it on a
piece of paper, and passed it across the table to the lawyer
and my lady,) that some one else had better book up for him,

15*



228



for he 'd have kep' some of the money. He 's a sly old cove,
your Gov'nor."

The expression of "Old Cove," thus flippantly applied
by the younger gentleman to himself and his master, dis-
pleased Mr. Morgan exceedingly. On the first occasion,
when Mr. Lightfoot used the obnoxious expression, his
comrade's anger was only indicated by a silent frown; but
on the second offence, Morgan, who was smoking his cigar
elegantly, and holding it on the tip of his penknife, with-
drew the cigar from his lips, and took his young friend to
task.

"Don't call Major Pendennis an old cove, if you '11 'ave
the goodness, Lightfoot, and don't call me an old cove,
nether. Such words ain't used in society; and we have lived
in the fust society, both at 'ome and foring. We 've been
intimate with the fust statesmen of Europe. When we go
abroad we dine with Prince Metternitch and Louy Philup
reg'lar. We go here to the best houses, the tip tops, I tell
you. We ride with Lord John and the noble Whycount at
the edd of Foring Affairs. We dine with the Hearl of
Burgrave, and are consulted by the Marquis of Steyne in
every think. We ought to know a thing or two, Mr. Light-
foot. You're a young man, I'm an old cove, as you say.
We 've both seen the world, and we both know that it ain't
money, nor bein' a Baronet, nor 'avin' a town and country
'ouse, nor a paltry five or six thousand a-year."

"It 's ten, Mr. Morgan," cried Mr. Lightfoot, with great
animation.

"It may have been, Sir," Morgan said, with calm severity ;
"it may have been, Mr. Lightfoot, but it ain't six now, nor
five. Sir. It's been doosedly dipped and cut into. Sir, by
the confounded extravygance of your master, with his helbow
shakin', and his bill discountin', and his cottage in the Re-



229

gency Park, and his many wickednesses. He 's a bad un, Mr.
Lightfoot, — a bad lot, Sir, and that you know. And it ain't
money. Sir — not such money as that, at any rate, come from
a Calcuttar attorney, and I dussay wrung out of the pore
starving blacks — that will give a pusson position in society,
as you know very well. We 've no money, but we go every-
where; there 's not a housekeeper's room. Sir, in this town
of any consiquince, where James Morgan ain't welcome.
And it was me who got you into this Club, Lightfoot, as
you very well know, though I am an old cove, and they would
have blackballed you without me as sure as your name is
Frederic."

"I know they would, Mr. Morgan," said the other, with
much humility.

"AVell, then, don't call me an old cove. Sir. It ain*t
gentlemanlike, Frederic Lightfoot, which I knew you when
you was a cab-boy, and when your father was in trouble, and
got you the place you have now when the Frenchman went
away. And if you think, Sir, that because you're making
up to Mrs. Bonner, who may have saved her two thousand
pound — and I daresay she has in five-and-twenty years as she
have lived confidential maid to Lady Clavering — yet, Sir,
you must remember who put you into that service, and who
knows what you were before, Sir, and it don't become you,
Frederic Lightfoot, to call me an old cove."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Morgan — I can't do more than
make an apology — will you have a glass. Sir, and let me
drink your 'ealth."

"You know I don't take sperrits, Lightfoot," replied
Morgan, appeased. "And so you and Mrs. Bonner is going
to put up together, are you? "

"She 's old, but two thousand pound's a good bit, you
see, Mr. Morgan. And we '11 get the ' Clavering Arms ' for a



230



very little ; and that '11 be no bad thing when the railroad runs
through Clavering. And when we are there, I hope you '11
come and see us, Mr. Morgan."

"It's a stoopid place, and no society," said Mr. Morgan.
"I know it well. In Mrs. Pendennis's time we used to go
down reg'lar, and ^ the hair refreshed me after the London
racket,"

"The railroad will improve Mr. Arthur's property," re-
marked Lightfoot. "What's about the figure of it, should
you say, Sir?"

"Under fifteen hundred, Sir," answered Morgan; at
which the other, who knew the extent of poor Arthur's
acres, thrust his tongue in his cheek, but remained wisely
silent.

"Is his man any good, Mr. Morgan?" Lightfoot re-
sumed.

"Pigeon ain't used to society as yet; but he 's young and
has good talents, and has read a good deal, and I dessay
he will do very well," replied Morgan. "He wouldn't quite
do for this kind of thing, Lightfoot, for he ain't seen the
world yet."

When the pint of sherry for which Mr. Lightfoot called,
upon Mr. Morgan's announcement that he declined to drink
spirits, had been discussed by the two gentlemen, who held
the wine up to the light, and smacked their lips, and winked
their eyes at it, and rallied the landlord as to the vintage, in
the most approved manner of connoisseurs, Morgan's ruflled
equanimity was quite restored, and he was prepared to treat
his young friend with perfect good-humour.

" What d' you think about Miss Amorj', Lightfoot — tell
us in confidence, now — Do you think we should do well —
you understand — if we make Miss A. into Mrs. A. P., com-
prendy vous?^*



231



"She and her Ma 's always quarrelin','' said Mr. Lightfoot.
"Bonner is more than a match for the old lady, and treats Sir
Francis like that — like this year spill, which I fling into the
grate. But she daren't say a word to Miss Amory. No more
dare none of us. When a visitor comes in, she smiles and
languishes, you'd think that butter wouldn't melt in her
mouth : and the minute he is gone, very likely, she flares up
like a little demon, and says things fit to send you wild. If
Mr. Arthur comes, it's 'Do let's sing that there delightful
songl' or, 'Come and write me them pooty verses in this
halbumi' and very likely she 's been a rilin' her mother, or
sticking pins into her maid, a minute before. She do stick
pins into her and pinch her. Mary Hann showed me one of
her arms quite black and blue; and I recklect Mrs. Bonner,
who 's as jealous of me as a old cat, boxed her ears for showing
me. And then you should see Miss at luncheon, when there 's
nobody but the family 1 She makes b'leave she never heats,
and my ! you should only jest see her. She has Mary Hann
to bring her up plum-cakes and creams into her bed-room;
and the cook 's the only man in the house she 's civil to.
Bonner says, how, the second season in London, Mr. Sop-
pington was a goin' to propose for her, and actially came one
day, and sor her fling a book into the fire, and scold her
mother so, that he went down softly by the back droring-
room door, which he came in by; and next thing we heard
of him was, he was married to Miss Rider. Oh, she's a
devil, that little Blanche, and that's my candig apinium,
Mr. Morgan."

"Apinion, not apinium, Lightfoot, my good fellow," Mr.
Morgan said , with parental kindness , and then asked of his
own bosom with a sigh, why the deuce does my Governor want
Master Arthur to marry such a girl as this? and the tete-a-tete
of the two gentlemen was broken up by the entry of other gen-



232



tlemen, members of the Club — when fashionable town-talk,
politics, cribbage, and other amusements ensued, and the
conversation became general.

The Gentleman's Club was held in the parlour of the
Wheel of Fortune public-house, In a snug little bye-lane,
leading out of one of the great streets of May Fair, and fre-
quented by some of the most select gentlemen about town.
Their masters' affairs, debts, intrigues, adventures; their
ladies' good and bad qualities and quarrels with their hus-
bands; all the family secrets were here discussed with perfect
freedom and confidence, and here, wlien about to enter Into
a new situation, a gentleman was enabled to get every requi-
site information regarding the family of which he proposed to
become a member. Liveries it may be Imagined were ex-
cluded from this select precinct; and the powdered heads of
the largest metropolitan footmen might bow down in vain
entreating admission Into the Gentleman's Club. These out-
cast giants in plush took their beer in an outer apartment of
the Wheel of Fortune, and could no more get an entry Into
the Club room than a Pall Mall tradesman or a Lincoln's Inn
attorney could get admission into Bays's or Spratt's. And
it is because the conversation which we have been permitted
to overhear here, in some measure explains the characters and
bearings of our story, that we have ventured to Introduce the
reader into a society so exclusive.

CHAPTER XVn.

The way of the world.
A SHORT time after the piece of good fortune which befel
Colonel Altamont at Epsom, that gentleman put into execu-
tion his projected foreign tour, and the chronicler of the
polite world who goes down to London Bridge for the purpose



233



of taking leave of the people of fashion who quit this country,
announced that among the company on board the Soho to
Antwerp last Saturday, were "Sir Robert, Lady, and the
Misses Hodge; Mr. Serjeant Kewsy, and Mrs. and Miss
Kewsy; Colonel Altamont, Major Coddy, &c." The Colonel
travelled in state, and as became a gentleman: he appeared
in a rich travelling costume; he drank brandy - and - water
freely during the passage, and was not sick, as some of the
other passengers were; and he was attended by his body ser-
vant, the faithful Irish legionary who had been for some time
in waiting upon himself and Captain Strong in their chambers
of Shepherd's Inn.

The Chevalier partook of a copious dinner at Blackwall
with his departing friend the Colonel, and one or two others,
who drank many healths to Altamont at that liberal gentle-
man's expense. "Strong, old boy," the Chevalier's worthy
chum said, "if you want a little money, now 's your time.
I 'm your man. You 're a good feller, and have been a good
feller to me, and a twenty pound note, more or less, will
riiake no odds to me." But Strong said. No, he didn't want
any money; he was flush, quite flush — "that is, not flush
enough to pay you back your last loan, Altamont, but quite
able to carry on for some time to come " — and so , with a not
uncordial greeting between them, the two parted. Had the
possession of money really made Altamont more honest and
amiable than he had hitherto been, or only caused him to
seem more amiable in Strong's eyes? Perhaps he really was
better; and money improved him. Perhaps it was the beauty
of wealth Strong saw and respected. But he argued within
himself, "This poor devil, this unlucky outcast of a returned
convict, is ten times as good a fellow as my friend Sir Francis
Clavering, Bart. He has pluck and honesty in his way. He
will stick to a friend , and face an enemy. The other never



234



had courage to do either. And -what Is it that has put the poor
devil under a cloud? He was only a little wild, and signed
his father-in-law's name. Many a man has done worse, and
come to no wrong, and holds his head up. Clavering does.
No, he don't hold his head up: he never did in his best
days." And Strong, perhaps, repented him of the falsehood
which he had told to the free-handed Colonel, that he was
not in want of money; but it was a falsehood on the side of
honesty, and the Chevalier could not bring down his stomach
to borrow a second time from his outlawed friend. Besides,
he could get on. Clavering had promised him some: not
that Clavering's promises were much to be believed, but the
Chevalier was of a hopeful turn, and trusted in many chances
of catching his patron, and waylaying some of those stray
remittances and supplies, in the procuring of which for his
principal lay Mr. Strong's chief business.

He had grumbled about Altamont's companionship in the
Shepherd's Inn chambers ; but he found those lodgings more
glum now without his partner than with him. The solitary
life was not agreeable to his social soul; and he had got into
extravagant and luxurious habits, too , having a servant at his
command to run his errands, to arrange his toilettes , and to
cook his meal. It was rather a grand and touching sight now
to see the portly and handsome gentleman painting his own
boots , and broiling his own mutton chop. It has been before
stated that the Chevalier had a wife , a Spanish lady of Vit-
toria, who had gone back to her friends, after a few months'
union with the Captain , whose head she broke with a dish.
He began to think whether he should not go back and see his
Juanita. The Chevalier was growing melancholy after the
departure of his friend the Colonel; or, to use his own pic-
turesque expression, was "down on his luck." These
moments of depression and intervals of ill-fortune occur con-



235

stantly in the lives of heroes; Marius at MInturnae, Charles
Edward in the Highlands, Napoleon before Elba. What
great man has not been called upon to face evil fortune?

From Clavering no supplies were to be had for some time.
The five-and- twenty pounds, or "pony" which the exemplary
Baronet had received from Mr. Altamont^ had fled out of
Clavering's keeping as swiftly as many previous ponies. He
had been down the river with a choice party of sporting gents,
who dodged the police and landed in Essex, where they put
up Billy Bluck to fight Dick the cabman , whom the Baronet
backed, and who had it all his own way for thirteen rounds,
when, by an unlucky blow in the windpipe, Billy killed him.
"It 's always my luck. Strong," Sir Francis said; "the
betting was three to one on the cabman, and I thought myself
as sure of thirty pounds , as if I had it in my pocket. And
dammy, I owe my man Lightfoot fourteen pound now which
he 's lent and paid for me : and he duns me — the confounded
impudent blackguard: and I wish to Heaven I knew anyway
of getting a bill done, or of screwing a little out of my
ladyl I'll give you half, Ned, upon my soul and honour,
I '11 give you half if you can get anybody to do us a little
fifty."

But Ned said sternly that he had given his word of honour,
as a gentleman, that he would be no party to any future bill-
transactions in which her husband might engage , (who had
given his word of honour too) , and the Chevalier said that he,
at least, would keep his word, and would black his own
boots all his life rather than break his promise. And what is
more, he vowed he would advise Lady Clavering that Sir
Francis was about to break his faith towards her upon the
very first hint which he could get that such was Clavering's

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34