friend in St. James's
Street, and resolved to cut him. This was attacking Brummell with his
own pet weapon, but not with success. Each antagonist was leaning on the
arm of a friend. 'Jack Lee,' who was thus supporting the Beau, was
intimate with the Prince, who, to make the cut the more marked, stopped
and talked to him without taking the slightest notice of Brummell. After
a time both parties moved on, and then came the moment of triumph and
revenge. It was sublime! Turning round half way, so that his words could
not fail to be heard by the retreating Regent, the Beau asked of his
companion in his usual drawl, 'Well, Jack, who's your fat friend?' The
coolness, presumption, and impertinence of the question perhaps made it
the best thing the Beau ever said, and from that time the Prince took
care not to risk another encounter with him.[11]

[11: Another version, given by Captain Jesse, represents this to have
taken place at a ball given at the Argyle Rooms in July, 1813, by Lord
Alvanley, Sir Henry Miklmav, Mr. Pierrepoint, and Mr. Brummell.]

Brummell was scotched rather than killed by the Prince's indifference.
He at once resolved to patronise his brother, the Duke of York, and
found in him a truer friend. The duchess, who had a particular fondness
for dogs, of which she is said to have kept no fewer, at one time, than
a hundred, added the puppy Brummell to the list, and treated him with a
kindness in which little condescension was mixed. But neither impudence
nor the blood-royal can keep a man out of debt, especially when he
plays. The Beau got deeper and deeper into the difficulty, and at last
some mysterious quarrel about money with a gentleman who thenceforward
went by the name of Dick the Dandy-killer, obliged him to think of place
and poverty in another land. He looked in vain for aid, and among others
Scrope Davies was written to to lend him 'two hundred,' 'because his
money was all in the three per cents.' Scrope replied laconically--

'MY DEAR GEORGE,

'It is very unfortunate, but _my_ money is all in the three per
cents. Yours,

'S. DAVIES,'

It was the last attempt. The Beau went to the opera, as usual, and drove
away from it clear off to Dover, whence the packet took him to safety
and slovenliness in the ancient town of Calais. His few effects were
sold after his departure. Porcelaine, buhl, a drawing or two,
double-barrelled Mantons (probably never used), plenty of old wine,
linen, f