iages, cutting away as if they were
going to a fire instead of to a finery shop.

Many were the smiles, and bows, and nods, and finger kisses, and bright
eyes, and sweet glances, that the fair flyers shot at our friend as they
darted past. We were lost in astonishment at the sight. 'Verily,' said we,
'but the old man was right. This _is_ an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar
man.'

Young Puffington was then in the heyday of youth, about one-and-twenty or
so, fair-haired, fresh-complexioned, slim, and standing, with the aid of
high-heeled boots, little under six feet high. He had taken after his
mother, not after old Tom Trodgers, as they called his papa. At length we
crossed over Oxford Street, and taking the shady side of Bond Street, were
quickly among the real swells of the world--men who crawled along as if
life was a perfect burden to them--men with eye-glasses fixed and tasselled
canes in their hands, scarcely less ponderous than those borne by the
footmen. Great Heavens! but they were tight, and smart, and shiny; and
Puffington was just as tight, and smart, and shiny as any of them. He was
as much in his element here as he appeared to be out of it in Oxford
Street. It might be prejudice, or want of penetration on our part, but we
thought he looked as high-bred as any of them. They all seemed to know each
other, and the nodding, and winking, and jerking, began as soon as we got
across. Puff kindly acted as cicerone, or we should not have been aware of
the consequence we were encountering.

'Well, Jemmy!' exclaimed a debauched-looking youth to our friend, 'how are
you?--breakfasted yet?'

'Going to,' replied Puffington, whom they called Jemmy because his name was
Tommy.

'That,' said he, in an undertone, 'is a _capital_ fellow--Lord Legbail,
eldest son of the Marquis of Loosefish--will be Lord Loosefish. We were at
the Finish together till six this morning--such fun!--bonneted a Charley,
stole his rattle, and broke an early breakfast-man's stall all to shivers.'
Just then up came a broad-brimmed hat, above a confused mass of greatcoats
and coloured shawls.

'Holloa, Jack!' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, laying hold of a mother-of-pearl
button nearly as large as a tart-plate, 'not off yet?'

'Just going,' replied Jack, with a touch of his hat, as he rolled on,
adding, 'want aught down the road?'

'What coachman is that?' asked we.

'_Coachman!_' replied Puff, with a snort. 'That's Jack Linchpin--Honourable
Jack