ng girl she takes in hand.
She dries 'em up, and poisons 'em, sir; and I was never more glad than
when I heard that Kew had got out of her old clutches. Frank is a fellow
that will always be led by some woman or another; and I'm only glad it
should be a good one. They say his mother's serious, and that; but why
shouldn't she bet?" continues honest Crackthorpe, puffing his cigar
with great energy. "They say the old dowager doesn't believe in God nor
devil: but that she's in such a funk to be left in the dark that she
howls, and raises the doose's own delight if her candle goes out.
Toppleton slept next room to her at Groningham, and heard her; didn't
you, Top?"

"Heard her howling like an old cat on the tiles," says
Toppleton,--"thought she was at first. My man told me that she used to
fling all sorts of things--boot-jacks and things, give you my honour--at
her maid, and that the woman was all over black and blue."

"Capital head that is Newcome has done of Jack Belsize!" says
Crackthorpe, from out of his cigar.

"And Kew's too--famous likeness! I say, Newcome, if you have 'em printed
the whole brigade'll subscribe. Make your fortune, see if you won't,"
cries Toppleton.

"He's such a heavy swell, he don't want to make his fortune," ejaculates
Butts.

"Butts, old boy, he'll paint you for nothing, and send you to the
Exhibition, where some widow will fall in love with you, and you shall
be put as frontispiece for the 'Book of Beauty,' by Jove," cries another
military satirist--to whom Butts:

"You hold your tongue, you old Saracen's Head; they're going to have you
done on the bear's-grease pots. I say, I suppose Jack's all right now.
When did he write to you last, Cracky?"

"He wrote from Palermo--a most jolly letter from him and Kew. He hasn't
touched a card for nine months; is going to give up play. So is Frank,
too, grown quite a good boy. So will you, too, Butts, you old miscreant,
repent of your sins, pay your debts, and do something handsome for
that poor deluded milliner in Albany Street. Jack says Kew's mother
has written over to Lord Highgate a beautiful letter--and the old boy's
relenting, and they'll come together again--Jack's eldest son now, you
know. Bore for Lady Susan only having girls."

"Not a bore for Jack, though," cries another. And what a good fellow
Jack was; and what a trump Kew is; how famously he stuck by him: went to
see him in prison and paid him out! and what good fellows we all are,