Mr. Clive, as we have said, had now begun to make acquaintances of his own; and the chimney-glass in his study was decorated with such a number of cards of invitation, as made his ex-fellow-student of Gandish’s, young Moss², when admitted into that sanctum, stare with respectful astonishment³. “Lady Bary Rowe at obe,” the young Hebrew read out; “Lady Baughton at obe, dadsig! By eyes! what a tip-top swell⁴ you’re a gettid to be, Newcome! I guess this is a different sort of business to the hops⁵ at old Levison’s, where you first learned the polka; and where we had to pay a shilling a glass for negus!”

“We had to pay! You never paid anything, Moss,” cries Clive, laughing; and indeed the negus imbibed⁶ by Mr. Moss did not cost that prudent⁷ young fellow a penny.

“Well, well; I suppose at these swell parties you ‘ave as bush champade as ever you like,” continues Moss. “Lady Kicklebury at obe — small early party. Why, I declare you know the whole peerage! I say, if any of these swells⁸ want a little tip-top lace, a real bargain, or diamonds, you know, you might put in a word for us, and do us a good turn.”

“Give me some of your cards,” says Clive; “I can distribute them about at the balls I go to. But you must treat my friends better than you serve me. Those cigars which you sent me were abominable⁹, Moss; the groom¹⁰ in the stable won’t smoke them.”

“What a regular swell that Newcome has become!” says Mr. Moss to an old companion, another of Clive’s fellow-students: “I saw him riding in the Park with the Earl of Kew, and Captain Belsize, and a whole lot of ’em — I know ’em all — and he’d hardly nod to me. I’ll have a horse next Sunday, and then I’ll see whether he’ll cut me or not. Confound his airs! For all he’s such a count, I know he’s got an aunt who lets

分享到：