the Park with the Earl of Kew, and Captain Belsize, and a whole lot of
'em--I know 'em all--and he'd hardly nod to me. I'll have a horse next
Sunday, and then I'll see whether he'll cut me or not. Confound his
airs! For all he's such a count, I know he's got an aunt who lets
lodgings at Brighton, and an uncle who'll be preaching in the Bench if
he don't keep a precious good look-out."

"Newcome is not a bit of a count," answers Moss's companion,
indignantly. "He don't care a straw whether a fellow's poor or rich; and
he comes up to my room just as willingly as he would go to a duke's.
He is always trying to do a friend a good turn. He draws the figure
capitally: he looks proud, but he isn't, and is the best-natured fellow
I ever saw."

"He ain't been in our place this eighteen months," says Mr. Moss: "I
know that."

"Because when he came you were always screwing him with some bargain or
other," cried the intrepid Hicks, Mr. Moss's companion for the moment.
"He said he couldn't afford to know you: you never let him out of your
house without a pin, or a box of eau-de-cologne, or a bundle of cigars.
And when you cut the arts for the shop, how were you and Newcome to go
on together, I should like to know?"

"I know a relative of his who comes to our 'ouse every three months, to
renew a little bill," says Mr. Moss, with a grin: "and I know this, if I
go to the Earl of Kew in the Albany, or the Honourable Captain Belsize,
Knightsbridge Barracks, they let me in soon enough. I'm told his father
ain't got much money."

"How the deuce should I know? or what do I care?" cries the young
artist, stamping the heel of his blucher on the pavement. "When I was
sick in that confounded Clipstone Street, I know the Colonel came to see
me, and Newcome too, day after day, and night after night. And when I
was getting well, they sent me wine and jelly, and all sorts of jolly
things. I should like to know how often you came to see me, Moss, and
what you did for a fellow?"

"Well, I kep away because I thought you wouldn't like to be reminded of
that two pound three you owe me, Hicks: that's why I kep away," says
Mr. Moss, who, I dare say, was good-natured too. And when young Moss
appeared at the billiard-room that night, it was evident that Hicks had
told the story; for the Wardour Street youth was saluted with a roar of
queries, "How about that two pound three that Hicks owes you?"

The artless conversation of the two youths will ena