rival.

"It's Percy Popjoy," said Pen, looking out of window, and seeing an
individual, in extremely lacquered boots, descend from the swinging cab:
and, in fact, it was that young nobleman Lord Falconet's eldest son,
as we all very well know, who was come to dine with the publisher--his
publisher of the Row.

"He was my fag at Eton," Warrington said. "I ought to have licked him
a little more." He and Pen had had some bouts at the Oxbridge Union
debates, in which Pen had had very much the better of Percy: who
presently appeared, with his hat under his arm, and a look of
indescribable good-humour and fatuity in his round dimpled face: upon
which Nature had burst out with a chin-tuft, but, exhausted with the
effort, had left the rest of the countenance bare of hair.

The temporary groom of the chambers bawled out, "The Honourable Percy
Popjoy," much to that gentleman's discomposure at hearing his titles
announced.

"What did the man want to take away my hat for, Bungay?" he asked of
the publisher. "Can't do without my hat--want it to make my bow to
Mrs. Bungay. How well you look. Mrs. Bungay, to-day. Haven't seen your
carriage in the Park: why haven't you been there? I missed you; indeed,
I did."

"I'm afraid you're a sad quiz," said Mrs. Bungay.

"Quiz! Never made a joke in my--hullo! who's here? How d'ye do,
Pendennis? How d'ye do, Warrington? These are old friends of mine, Mrs.
Bungay. I say, how the doose did you come here?" he asked of the two
young men, turnip his lacquered heels upon Mrs. Bungay, who respected
her husband's two young guests, now that she found they were intimate
with a lord's son.

"What! do they know him?" she asked rapidly of Mr. B.

"High fellers, I tell you--the young one related to all the nobility,"
said the publisher; and both ran forward, smiling and bowing, to greet
almost as great personages as the young lord--no less characters,
indeed, than the great Mr. Wenham and the great Mr. Wagg, who were now
announced.

Mr. Wenham entered, wearing the usual demure look and stealthy smile
with which he commonly surveyed the tips of his neat little shining
boots, and which he but seldom brought to bear upon the person who
addressed him. Wagg's white waistcoat spread out, on the contrary,
with profuse brilliancy; his burly, red face shone resplendent over it,
lighted up with the thoughts of good jokes and a good dinner. He liked
to make his entree into a drawing-room with a laugh, and, wh