him, with his hat curiously on one side, looking as
pleased as Punch, and being driven, in an open cab, in the Champs
Elysees. "That's ANOTHER tip-top chap," said he, when we met, at length.
"What do you think of an Earl's son, my boy? Honorable Tom Ringwood, son
of the Earl of Cinqbars: what do you think of that, eh?"

I thought he was getting into very good society. Sam was a dashing
fellow, and was always above his own line of life; he had met Mr.
Ringwood at the Baron's, and they'd been to the play together; and the
honorable gent, as Sam called him, had joked with him about being well
to do IN A CERTAIN QUARTER; and he had had a game of billiards with the
Baron, at the Estaminy, "a very distangy place, where you smoke," said
Sam; "quite select, and frequented by the tip-top nobility;" and they
were as thick as peas in a shell; and they were to dine that day at
Ringwood's, and sup, the next night, with the Baroness.

"I think the chaps down the road will stare," said Sam, "when they hear
how I've been coming it." And stare, no doubt, they would; for it
is certain that very few commercial gentlemen have had Mr. Pogson's
advantages.

The next morning we had made an arrangement to go out shopping together,
and to purchase some articles of female gear, that Sam intended to
bestow on his relations when he returned. Seven needle-books, for his
sisters; a gilt buckle, for his mamma; a handsome French cashmere shawl
and bonnet, for his aunt (the old lady keeps an inn in the Borough,
and has plenty of money, and no heirs); and a toothpick case, for his
father. Sam is a good fellow to all his relations, and as for his aunt,
he adores her. Well, we were to go and make these purchases, and I
arrived punctually at my time; but Sam was stretched on a sofa, very
pale and dismal.

I saw how it had been.--"A little too much of Mr. Ringwood's claret, I
suppose?"

He only gave a sickly stare.

"Where does the Honorable Tom live?" says I.

"HONORABLE!" says Sam, with a hollow, horrid laugh; "I tell you, Tit,
he's no more Honorable than you are."

"What, an impostor?"

"No, no; not that. He is a real Honorable, only--"

"Oh, ho! I smell a rat--a little jealous, eh?"

"Jealousy be hanged! I tell you he's a thief; and the Baron's a thief;
and, hang me, if I think his wife is any better. Eight-and-thirty pounds
he won of me before supper; and made me drunk, and sent me home:--is
THAT honorable? How can I afford to lose forty