en the coin was gone, or sometimes, indeed, when a
creditor came by.

It was in one of these moments of exultation that Pen found his old
friend swaggering at the singers' table at the Back Kitchen of the
Fielding's Head, and ordering glasses of brandy-and-water for any of his
acquaintances who made their appearance in the apartment. Warrington,
who was on confidential terms with the bass singer, made his way up to
this quarter of the room, and Pen walked at his friend's heels.

Pen started and blushed to see Costigan. He had just come from Lady
Whiston's party, where he had met and spoken with the Captain's daughter
again for the first time after very old old days. He came up with
outstretched hand, very kindly and warmly to greet the old man; still
retaining a strong remembrance of the time when Costigan's daughter had
been everything in the world to him. For though this young gentleman may
have been somewhat capricious in his attachments, and occasionally have
transferred his affections from one woman to another, yet he always
respected the place where Love had dwelt, and, like the Sultan of
Turkey, desired that honours should be paid to the lady towards whom
he had once thrown the royal pocket-handkerchief. The tipsy Captain
returning the clasp of Pen's hand with all the strength of a palm
which had become very shaky by the constant lifting up of weights
of brandy-and-water, looked hard in Pen's face, and said, "Grecious
Heavens, is it possible? Me dear boy, me dear fellow, me dear friend;"
and then with a look of muddled curiosity, fairly broke down with, "I
know your face, me dear dear friend, but, bedad, I've forgot your name."
Five years of constant punch had passed since Pen and Costigan met.
Arthur was a good deal changed, and the Captain may surly be excused for
forgetting him; when a man at the actual moment sees things double, we
may expect that his view of the past will be rather muzzy.

Pen saw his condition and laughed, although, perhaps, he was
somewhat mortified. "Don't you remember me, Captain?" he said. "I am
Pendennis--Arthur Pendennis, of Chatteris."

The sound of the young man's friendly voice recalled and steadied Cos's
tipsy remembrance, and he saluted Arthur, as soon as he knew him, with a
loud volley of friendly greetings. Pen was his dearest boy, his gallant
young friend, his noble collagian, whom he had held in his inmost heart
ever since they had parted--how was his fawther, no, his moth