at four I climbed the stairs and knocked at Mr. Fox's door. The
Swiss who opened it shook his head dubiously when I asked for his master,
and said he had not been at home that day.

"But I had an appointment to meet him," I said, thinking it very strange.

The man's expression changed.

"An appointment, sir! Ah, sir, then you are to step in here." And to my
vast astonishment he admitted me into a small room at one side of the
entrance. It was bare as poverty, and furnished with benches, and
nothing more. On one of these was seated a person with an unmistakable
nose and an odour of St. Giles's, who sprang to his feet and then sat
down again dejectedly. I also sat down, wondering what it could mean,
and debating whether to go or stay.

"Exguse me, your honour," said the person, "but haf you seen Mister Fox?"

I said that I, too, was waiting for him, whereat he cast at me a cunning
look beyond my comprehension. Surely, I thought, a man of Fox's
inherited wealth and position could not be living in such a place!
Before the truth and humour of the situation had dawned upon me, I heard
a ringing voice without, swearing in most forcible English, and the door
was thrown open, admitting a tall young gentleman, as striking as I have
ever seen. He paid not the smallest attention to the Jew, who was bowing
and muttering behind me.

"Mr. Richard Carvel?" said he, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

I bowed.

"Gad's life, Mr. Carvel, I'm deuced sorry this should have happened.
Will you come with me?"

"Exguse me, your honour!" cried the other visitor.

"Now, what the plague, Aaron!" says he; "you wear out the stairs. Come
to-morrow, or the day after."

"Ay, 'tis always 'to-morrow' with you fine gentlemen. But I vill bring
the bailiffs, so help me--"

"Damn 'em!" says the tall young gentleman, as he slammed the door and so
shut off the wail. "Damn 'em, they worry Charles to death. If he would
only stick to quinze and picquet, and keep clear of the hounds*, he need
never go near a broker."

[*"The "hounds," it appears, were the gentlemen of sharp practices at
White's and Almack's.--D. C. C.]

"Do you have Jews in America, Mr. Carvel?" Without waiting for an answer,
he led me through a parlour, hung with pictures, and bewilderingly
furnished with French and Italian things, and Japan and China ware and
bronzes, and cups and trophies. "My name is Fitzpatrick, Mr. Carvel,
--yours to command, and Charles's. I am his all