ure of his first pun, for he was impudent and easily
disconcerted, Wagg kept his conversation pretty much to Pen during the
rest of dinner, and of course chiefly spoke about their neighbours.
"This is one of Bungay's grand field-days," he said. "We are all
Bungavians here.--Did you read Popjoy's novel? It was an old magazine
story written by poor Buzzard years ago, and forgotten here until Mr.
Trotter (that is Trotter with the large shirt collar) fished it out and
bethought him that it was applicable to the late elopement; so Bob wrote
a few chapters a propos--Popjoy permitted the use of his name, and
I dare say supplied a page here and there--and 'Desperation, or the
Fugitive Duchess' made its appearance. The great fun is to examine
Popjoy about his own work, of which he doesn't know a word.--I say,
Popjoy, what a capital passage that is in Volume Three,--where the
Cardinal in disguise, after being converted by the Bishop of London,
proposes marriage to the Duchess's daughter."

"Glad you like it," Popjoy answered; "it's a favourite bit of my own."

"There's no such thing in the whole book," whispered Wagg to Pen.
"Invented it myself. Gad! it wouldn't be a bad plot for a high-church
novel."

"I remember poor Byron, Hobhouse, Trelawney, and myself, dining with
Cardinal Mezzocaldo at Rome," Captain Sumph began, "and we had some
Orvieto wine for dinner, which Byron liked very much. And I remember
how the Cardinal regretted that he was a single man. We went to Civita
Vecchia two days afterwards, where Byron's yacht was--and, by Jove,
the Cardinal died within three weeks; and Byron was very sorry, for he
rather liked him."

"A devilish interesting story, Sumph, indeed," Wagg said.

"You should publish some of those stories, Captain Sumph, you really
should. Such a volume would make our friend Bungay's fortune," Shandon
said.

"Why don't you ask Sumph to publish 'em in your new paper--the
what-d'ye-call-'em--hay, Shandon?" bawled out Wagg.

"Why don't you ask him to publish 'em in your old magazine, the
Thingumbob?" Shandon replied.

"Is there going to be a new paper?" asked Wenham, who knew perfectly
well, but was ashamed of his connection with the press.

"Bungay going to bring out a paper?" cried Popjoy, who, on the contrary,
was proud of his literary reputation and acquaintances. "You must employ
me. Mrs. Bungay, use your influence with him, and make him employ me.
Prose or verse--what shall it be? Novels, poe