Meanwhile his difficulties increased; extravagance, debt, want of energy to meet both, brought him speedily into that position when a man accepts without hesitation the slightest offer of aid.  The man who had had an income of L15,000 a year, and settled L20,000 on his wife, allowed a poor friend to pay a bill for L5 for him, and clutched eagerly at a L50 note when displayed to him by another.  Extravagance is the father of meanness, and Sheridan was often mean in the readiness with which he accepted offers, and the anxiety with which he implored assistance.  It is amusing in the present day to hear a man talk of ‘a debt of honour,’ as if all debts did not demand honour to pay them—­as if all debts incurred without hope of repayment were not dishonourable.  A story is told relative to the old-fashioned idea of a ‘debt of honour.’  A tradesman, to whom he had given a bill for L200, called on him for the amount.  A heap of gold was lying on the table.  ‘Don’t look that way,’ cried Sheridan, after protesting that he had not a penny in the world, ‘that is to pay a debt of honour.’  The applicant, with some wit, tore up the bill he held.  ‘Now, Mr. Sheridan,’ quoth he, ’mine is a debt of honour too.’  It is to be hoped that Sheridan handed him the money.

The story of Gunter’s bill is not so much to his credit, Hanson, an ironmonger, called upon him and pressed for payment.  A bill sent in by the famous confectioner was lying on the table.  A thought struck the debtor, who had no means of getting rid of his importunate applicant.  ‘You know Gunter?’ he asked.  ‘One of the safest men in London,’ replied the ironmonger.  ’Then will you be satisfied if I give you his bill for the amount?’—­’Certainly.’  Thereupon Sheridan handed him the neatly folded account and rushed from the room, leaving the creditor to discover the point of Mr. Sheridan’s little fun.

Still Sheridan might have weathered through the storm.  Drury Lane was a mine of wealth to him, and with a little care might have been really profitable.  The lawsuits, the debts, the engagements upon it, all rose from his negligence and extravagance.  But Old Drury was doomed.  On the 24th February, 1809, soon after the conclusion of the performances, it was announced to be in flames.  Rather it announced itself.  In a few moments it was blazing—­a royal bonfire.  Sheridan was in the House of Commons at the time.  The reddened clouds above London threw the glare back even to the windows of the House.  The members rushed from their seats to see the unwonted light, and in consideration for Sheridan, an adjournment was moved.  But he rose calmly, though sadly, and begged that no misfortune of his should interrupt the public business.  His independence, he said—­witty in the midst of his troubles—­had often been questioned, but was now confirmed, for he had nothing more to depend upon.  He then left the House, and repaired to the scene of conflagration.