Lord B. will get up, and, holding the paper in
his hand, and seeing the noble marquis in his place, will make a great
speech; and--and Mr. Doolan will be called away from his supper at the
Back Kitchen; for he is foreign sub-editor, and sees the mail on the
newspaper sheet before he goes to his own."

And so talking, the friends turned into their chambers, as the dawn was
beginning to peep.

CHAPTER XXXII. In which the Printer's Devil comes to the Door

Pen, in the midst of his revels and enjoyments, humble as they were,
and moderate in cost if not in kind, saw an awful sword hanging over
him which must drop down before long and put an end to his frolics and
feasting. His money was very nearly spent. His club subscription had
carried away a third part of it. He had paid for the chief articles of
furniture with which he had supplied his little bedroom: in fine, he was
come to the last five-pound note in his pocket-book, and could think of
no method of providing a successor: for our friend had been bred up like
a young prince as yet, or as a child in arms whom his mother feeds when
it cries out.

Warrington did not know what his comrade's means were. An only child,
with a mother at her country house, and an old dandy of an uncle who
dined with a great man every day, Pen might have a large bank at his
command for anything that the other knew. He had gold chains and
a dressing-case fit for a lord. His habits were those of an
aristocrat,--not that he was expensive upon any particular point, for he
dined and laughed over the pint of porter and the plate of beef from the
cook's shop with perfect content and good appetite,--but he could not
adopt the penny-wise precautions of life. He could not give twopence to
a waiter; he could not refrain from taking a cab if he had a mind to do
so, or if it rained, and as surely as he took the cab he overpaid the
driver. He had a scorn for cleaned gloves and minor economies. Had
he been bred to ten thousand a year he could scarcely have been more
free-handed; and for a beggar, with a sad story, or a couple of pretty
piteous-faced children, he never could resist putting his hand into his
pocket. It was a sumptuous nature, perhaps, that could not be brought
to regard money; a natural generosity and kindness; and possibly a petty
vanity that was pleased with praise, even with the praise of waiters and
cabmen. I doubt whether the wisest of us know what our own motives are,
and whet