"That is right," renewed Mr Peacock, more benignly; "you have the ingenuous shame of youth. It is promising, sir--'lowliness is young ambition's ladder,' as the swan says. Mount the first step, and learn whist--sixpenny points to begin with." Notwithstanding my newness in actual life, I had had the good fortune to learn a little of the way before me, by those much-slandered guides called novels--works which are often to the inner world what maps are to the outer; and sundry recollections of "Gil Blas" and the "Vicar of Wakefield" came athwart me. I had no wish to emulate the worthy Moses, and felt that I might not have even the shagreen spectacles to boast of, in my negotiations with this new Mr Jenkinson. Accordingly, shaking my head, I called for my bill. As I took out my purse--knit by my mother--with one gold piece in one corner, and sundry silver ones in the other, I saw that the eyes of Mr Peacock twinkled. "Poor spirit, sir! poor spirit, young man! 'This avarice sticks deep,' as the swan beautifully observes. 'Nothing venture, nothing have.'" "Nothing have, nothing venture," I returned, plucking up spirit. "Nothing have!--Young sir, do you doubt my solidity--my capital--my 'golden joys?'" "Sir, I spoke of myself. I am not rich enough to gamble." "Gamble!" exclaimed Mr Peacock, in virtuous indignation--"Gamble! what do you mean, sir? You insult me!" and he rose threateningly, and slapped his white hat on his wig. "Pshaw! let him alone, Hal," said the boy contemptuously. "Sir, if he is impertinent, thrash him." (This was to me.) "Impertinent!--thrash!" exclaimed Mr Peacock, waxing very red; but catching the sneer on his companion's lip, he sat down, and subsided into sullen silence. Meanwhile I paid my bill. This duty, rarely a cheerful one, performed, I looked round for my knapsack, and perceived that it was in the boy's hands. He was very coolly reading the address which, in case of accidents, I had prudently placed on it--Pisistratus Caxton, Esq., ---- Hotel, ---- Street, --, Strand. I took my knapsack from him, more surprised at such a breach of good manners in a young gentleman who knew life so well, than I should have been at a similar error on the part of Mr Peacock. He made no apology, but nodded farewell, and stretched himself at full length on the bench. Mr Peacock, now absorbed in a game of patience, vouchsafed no return to my parting salutation, and in another moment I was alone on the high-road. My thoughts turned long upon the young man I had left: mixed with a sort of instinctive compassionate foreboding of an ill future for one with such habits, and in such companionship, I felt an involuntary admiration, less even for his good looks than his ease, audacity, and the careless superiority he assumed over a comrade so much older than himself.