great window of Bays's Club in Saint James's Street, at
the hour in the afternoon when you see a half-score of respectable old
bucks similarly recreating themselves (Bays's is rather an old-fashioned
place of resort now, and many of its members more than middle-aged; but
in the time of the Prince Regent, these old fellows occupied the
same window, and were some of the very greatest dandies in this
empire)--Major Pendennis was looking from the great window, and spied
his nephew Arthur walking down the street in company with his friend Mr.
Popjoy.

"Look!" said Popjoy to Pen, as they passed, "did you ever pass Bays's
at four o'clock, without seeing that collection of old fogies? It's
a regular museum. They ought to be cast in wax, and set up at Madame
Tussaud's--"

"--In a chamber of old horrors by themselves," Pen said, laughing.

"--In the chamber of horrors! Gad, doosid good!" Pop cried. "They are
old rogues, most of 'em, and no mistake. There's old Blondel; there's
my Uncle Colchicum, the most confounded old sinner in Europe;
there's--hullo! there's somebody rapping the window and nodding at us."

"It's my uncle, the Major," said Pen. "Is he an old sinner too?"

"Notorious old rogue," Pop said, wagging his head. ("Notowious old
wogue," he pronounced the words, thereby rendering them much more
emphatic.)--"He's beckoning you in; he wants to speak to you."

"Come in too," Pen said.

"--Can't," replied the other. "Cut uncle Col. two years ago, about
Mademoiselle Frangipane--Ta, ta," and the young sinner took leave
of Pen, and the club of the elder criminals, and sauntered into
Blacquiere's, an adjacent establishment, frequented by reprobates of his
own age.

Colchicum, Blondel, and the senior bucks had just been conversing about
the Clavering family, whose appearance in London had formed the subject
of Major Pendennis's morning conversation with his valet. Mr. Blondel's
house was next to that of Sir Francis Clavering, in Grosvenor Place:
giving very good dinners himself, he had remarked some activity in his
neighbour's kitchen. Sir Francis, indeed, had a new chef, who had
come in more than once and dressed Mr. Blondel's dinner for him; that
gentleman having only a remarkably expert female artist permanently
engaged in his establishment, and employing such chiefs of note as
happened to be free on the occasion of his grand banquets. "They go to
a devilish expense and see devilish bad company as yet, I hear," Mr.