“Major Carbonnell,” replied I, “I
have seen you but two minutes, and I have taken a
particular fancy to you, in which I, no doubt, have
proved my discrimination. Of course, you know
that I have just returned from making a tour?”
“So I understand from his lordship’s letter.
Mr Newland, my time is at your service. Where
are you staying?”
“At the Piazza.”
“Very good; I will dine with you to-day; order
some mulligatawny, they are famous for it. After
dinner we will go to the theatre.”
I was rather surprised at his cool manner of asking
himself to dine with me and ordering my dinner, but
a moment’s reflection made me feel what sort
of person I had to deal with.
“Major, I take that as almost an affront.
You will dine with me to-day! I beg to state
that you must dine with me every day that we
are not invited elsewhere; and what’s more, sir,
I shall be most seriously displeased, if you do not
order the dinner every time that you do dine with
me, and ask whoever you may think worthy of putting
their legs under our table, Let’s have no doing
things by halves, Major; I know you now as well as
if we had been intimate for ten years.”
The Major seized me by the hand. “My dear
Newland, I only wish we had known one another
ten years, as you say—the loss has been
mine; but now—you have breakfasted, I presume?”
“Yes; having nothing to do, and not knowing
a soul after my long absence, I advanced my breakfast
about two hours, that I might find you at home; and
now I’m at your service.”
“Say rather I am at yours. I presume you
will walk. In ten minutes I shall be ready.
Either take up the paper, or whistle an air or two,
or anything else you like, just to kill ten minutes—and
I shall be at your command.”
I come out under a first-rate
chaperon, and at once am established
into the regions of
fashion—Prove that I am deserving of my
promotion.
“I beg your pardon, Newland,” said the
Major, returning from his dressing-room, resplendent
with chains and bijouterie; “but I must have
your Christian name.”
“It’s rather a strange one,” replied
I; “it is Japhet.”
“Japhet! by the immortal powers, I’d bring
an action against my godfathers and godmothers; you
ought to recover heavy damages.”
“Then I presume you would not have the name,”
replied I, with a knowing look, “for a clear
ten thousand a year.”
“Whew! that alters the case—it’s
astonishing how well any name looks in large gold
letters. Well, as the old gentleman, whoever he
might have been, made you compensation, you must forgive
and forget. Now where shall we go?”
“With your permission, as I came to town in
these clothes, made by a German tailor—Darmstadt’s
tailor by-the-bye—but still if tailor to
a prince, not the prince of tailors—I would
wish you to take me to your own: your dress appears
very correct.”
