"Go on!" cries the Colonel in his high voice, trembling with anger. "Does any gentleman say go on? Does any man who has a wife and sisters or children at home, say go on? Do you dare, sir, to call yourself a gentleman, and to say that you hold the King's commission, and to sit amongst Christians and men of honour, and defile the ears of young boys with this wicked balderdash?" "Why do you bring young boys here, old boy?" cries a voice of the malcontents. "Why? Because I thought I was coming to a society of gentlemen," cried out the indignant Colonel. "Because I never could have believed that Englishmen could meet together and allow a man, and an old man, so to disgrace himself. For shame, you old wretch! Go home to your bed, you hoary old sinner! And for my part, I'm not sorry that my son should see, for once in his life, to what shame and degradation and dishonour, drunkenness and whiskey may bring a man. Never mind the change, sir!--Curse the change!" says the Colonel, facing the amazed waiter. "Keep it till you see me in this place again; which will be never--by George, never!" And shouldering his stick, and scowling round at the company of scared bacchanalians, the indignant gentleman stalked away, his boy after him. Clive seemed rather shamedfaced, but I fear the rest of the company looked still more foolish. For if the truth be told that uplifted cane of the Colonel's had somehow fallen on the back of every man in the room. While Clive and his father are becoming better acquainted let us pass on to Brighton, and glance at the household of that good, brisk old lady, Clive's Aunt Honeyman. Now Aunt Honeyman was a woman of spirit and resolution, and when she found her income sadly diminished by financial reverses she brought her furniture to Brighton, also a faithful maid servant who had learned her letters and worked her first sampler under Miss Honeyman's own eye, and whom she adored all through her life. With this outfit the brisk little lady took a house, and let the upper floors to lodgers, and because of her personal attractions and her good housekeeping her rooms were seldom empty. On the morning when we first visit Miss Honeyman's a gentleman had just applied there for rooms. "Please to speak to mistress," says Hannah, the maid, opening the parlour door with a curtsey. "A gentleman about the apartments, mum." "Fife bet-rooms," says the man entering. "Six bets, two or dree sitting-rooms? We gome from Dr. Good-enough." "Are the apartments for you, sir?" says Miss Honeyman, looking up at the large gentleman. "For my lady," answers the man. "Had you not better take off your hat?" asks Miss Honeyman.