ly (for Cluffe, like other men not deep in the _literae
humaniores_, had a sort of veneration for 'book learning,' under which
category he placed Puddock's endless odds and ends of play lore, and
viewed the little lieutenant himself accordingly with some awe as a man
of parts and a scholar, and prodigiously admired his verses, which he
only half understood); he fancied, I say, although Puddock was unusually
entertaining, that Miss Gertrude would have been well content to
exchange him for the wooden lay-figure on which she hung her draperies
when she sketched, which might have worn his uniform and filled his
chair, and spared her his agreeable conversation, and which had eyes and
saw not, and ears and heard not.

In short, the cunning fellow fancied he saw, by many small signs, a very
decided preference on her part for the handsome and melancholy, but
evidently eloquent stranger. Like other cunning fellows, however, Cluffe
was not always right; and right or wrong, in his own illusions, if such
they were, little Puddock was, for the time, substantially blessed.

The plump and happy lieutenant, when the ladies had flown away to the
drawing-room and their small tea-cups, waxed silent and sentimental, but
being a generous rival, and feeling that he could afford it, made a
little effort, and engaged Mervyn in talk, and found him pleasantly
versed in many things of which he knew little, and especially in the
Continental stage and drama, upon which Puddock heard him greedily; and
the general's bustling talk helped to keep the company merry, and he
treated them to a bottle of the identical sack of which his own
father's wedding posset had been compounded! Dangerfield, in a rather
harsh voice, but agreeably and intelligently withal, told some rather
pleasant stories about old wines and curious wine fanciers; and Cluffe
and Puddock, who often sang together, being called on by the general,
chanted a duet rather prettily, though neither, separately, had much of
a voice. And the incorrigible Puddock, apropos of a piece of a whale
once eaten by Dangerfield, after his wont, related a wonderful
receipt--'a weaver surprised.' The weaver turned out to be a fish, and
the 'surprising' was the popping him out of ice into boiling water, with
after details, which made the old general shake and laugh till tears
bedewed his honest cheeks. And Mervyn and Dangerfield, as much surprised
as the weaver, both looked, each in his own way, a little curi