an I do?"

Warrington burst out laughing. "Suppose we advertise in the Times," he
said, "for an usher's place at a classical and commercial academy--A
gentleman, B.A. of St. Boniface College, and who was plucked for his
degree--"

"Confound you," cried Pen.

"--Wishes to give lessons in classics and mathematics, and the rudiments
of the French language; he can cut hair, attend to the younger pupils,
and play a second on the piano with the daughters of the principal.
Address A. P., Lamb Court, Temple."

"Go on," said Pen, growling.

"Men take to all sorts of professions. Why, there is your friend
Bloundell-Bloundell is a professional blackleg, and travels the
Continent, where he picks up young gentlemen of fashion and fleeces
them. There is Bob O'Toole, with whom I was at school, who drives
the Ballynafad mail now, and carries honest Jack Finucane's own
correspondence to that city. I know a man, sir, a doctor's son,
like--well, don't be angry, I meant nothing offensive--a doctor's son,
I say, who was walking the hospitals here, and quarrelled with his
governor on questions of finance, and what did he do when he came to his
last five-pound note? he let his mustachios grow, went into a provincial
town, where he announced himself as Professor Spineto, chiropodist to
the Emperor of All the Russians, and by a happy operation on the editor
of the country newspaper, established himself in practice, and lived
reputably for three years. He has been reconciled to his family, and has
succeeded to his father's gallypots."

"Hang gallypots," cried Pen. "I can't drive a coach, cut corns, or cheat
at cards. There's nothing else you propose."

"Yes; there's our own correspondent," Warrington said. "Every man
has his secrets, look you. Before you told me the story of your
money-matters, I had no idea but that you were a gentleman of fortune,
for, with your confounded airs and appearance, anybody would suppose you
to be so. From what you tell me about your mother's income, it is clear
that you must not lay any more hands on it. You can't go on spunging
upon the women. You must pay off that trump of a girl. Laura is her
name?--here is your health, Laura!--and carry a hod rather than ask for
a shilling from home."

"But how earn one?" asked Pen.

"How do I live, think you?" said the other. "On my younger brother's
allowance, Pendennis? I have secrets of my own, my boy;" and here
Warrington's countenance fell. "I made away with t