of "Swell.' He had a bull-dog between his legs, and in his
scarlet shawl neckcloth was a pin representing another bull-dog in gold:
he wore a fur waistcoat laced over with gold chains; a green cutaway
coat with basket-buttons, and a white upper-coat ornamented with
cheese-plate buttons, on each of which was engraved some stirring
incident of the road or the chase; all which ornaments set off this
young fellow's figure to such advantage, that you would hesitate to say
which character in life he most resembled, and whether he was a boxer en
goguette, or a coachman in his gala suit.

"Left that place for good, Pendennis?" Mr. Foker said, descending from
his landau and giving Pendennis a finger.

"Yes, this year--or more," Pen said.

"Beastly old hole," Mr. Foker remarked. "Hate it. Hate the Doctor: hate
Towzer, the second master; hate everybody there. Not a fit place for a
gentleman."

"Not at all," said Pen, with an air of the utmost consequence.

"By gad, sir, I sometimes dream, now, that the Doctor's walking into
me," Foker continued (and Pen smiled as he thought that he himself
had likewise fearful dreams of this nature). "When I think of the diet
there, by gad, sir, I wonder how I stood it. Mangy mutton, brutal beef;
pudding on Thursdays and Sundays, and that fit to poison you. Just
look at my leader--did you ever see a prettier animal? Drove over from
Baymouth. Came the nine mile in two-and-forty minutes. Not bad going,
sir."

"Are you stopping at Baymouth, Foker?" Pendennis asked.

"I'm coaching there," said the other, with a nod.

"What?" asked Pen, and in a tone of such wonder, that Foker burst out
laughing, and said, "He was blowed if he didn't think Pen was such a
flat as not to know what coaching meant."

"I'm come down with a coach from Oxford. A tutor, don't you see, old
boy? He's coaching me, and some other men, for the little go. Me and
Spavin have the drag between us. And I thought I'd just tool over and
go to the play. Did you ever see Rowkins do the hornpipe?" and Mr.
Foker began to perform some steps of that popular dance in the inn yard,
looking round for the sympathy of his groom and the stable-men.

Pen thought he would like to go to the play too: and could ride home
afterwards, as there was a moonlight. So he accepted Foker's invitation
to dinner, and the young men entered the inn together, where Mr. Foker
stopped at the bar, and called upon Miss Rincer, the landlady's fair
daughter, who