le solicitors of the
Company had retired, long since, after having secured payment of a most
respectable bill; and had given place to the firm of dubious law-agents
of whom I had that evening seen a partner. How the retiring partners
from India had been allowed to withdraw, and to bring fortunes along
with them, was a mystery to Mr. Frederick Bayham. The great Indian
millionnaire was in his, F. B.'s eyes, "a confounded mahogany-coloured
heathen humbug." These fine parties which the Colonel was giving, and
that fine carriage which was always flaunting about the Park with poor
Mrs. Clive and the Campaigner, and the nurse and the baby, were, in
F. B.'s opinion, all decoys and shams. He did not mean to say that the
meals were not paid, and that the Colonel had to plunder for his horses'
corn; but he knew that Sherrick, and the attorney, and the manager,
insisted upon the necessity of giving these parties, and keeping up this
state and grandeur, and opined that it was at the special instance of
these advisers that the Colonel had contested the borough for which he
was now returned. "Do you know how much that contest cost?" asks F. B.
"The sum, sir, was awful! and we have ever so much of it to pay. I came
up twice myself from Newcome to Campion and Sherrick about it. I betray
no secrets--F. B., sir, would die a thousand deaths before he would tell
the secrets of his benefactor!--But, Pendennis, you understand a thing
or two. You know what o'clock it is, and so does yours truly, F. B., who
drinks your health. I know the taste of Sherrick's wine well enough.
F. B., sir, fears the Greeks and all the gifts they bring. Confound his
Amontillado! I had rather drink this honest malt and hops all my life
than ever see a drop of his abominable sherry. Golden? F. B. believes
it is golden--and a precious deal dearer than gold too"--and herewith,
ringing the bell, my friend asked for a second pint of the just-named
and cheaper fluid.

I have of late had to recount portions of my dear old friend's history
which must needs be told, and over which the writer does not like to
dwell. If Thomas Newcome's opulence was unpleasant to describe, and to
contrast with the bright goodness and simplicity I remembered in former
days, how much more painful is that part of his story to which we are
now come perforce, and which the acute reader of novels has, no doubt,
long foreseen? Yes, sir or madam, you are quite right in the opinion
which you have held