Nor was it altogether surprising that he should like to hear words of praise and commendation from lips that once only opened in sarcasm and ridicule of him. How pleasant to know, at last, that he was really and truly a great partner in the house of Davis and Co., and not a mere commission agent, and that this partnership--how that idea came to strike him we cannot determine--was to be binding forever. How exalting, too, the sentiment that it was just at the moment when all his future looked gloomiest this friendship was ratified. The Lackington peerage might go, but there was Grog Davis, stanch and true,--the ancient estates be torn from his house, but there was the precious volume of old Lazarus, with wealth untold within its pages. Thus threading his way through these tortuous passages of thought, stumbling, falling, and blundering at every step, that poor brain lost all power of coherency and all guidance, and he wavered between a reckless defiance of the world and a sort of slavish fear of its censure. “And Lackington, Grog,--Lackington,” cried he, at length,--“he's as proud as Lucifer; what will he say?” “Not so much as you think!” remarked Grog, dryly. “Lackington will take it easier than you suspect.” “No, no, you don't know him,--don't know him at all. I wouldn't stand face to face with him this minute for a round sum!” “I 'd not like it over-much myself!” muttered Davis, with a grim smile. “It's all from pride of birth and blood, and he 'd say, 'Debts, if you like; go ahead with Jews and the fifty per centers, but, hang it, don't tie a stone round your throat, don't put a double ditch between you and your own rank! Look where I am,' he 'd say,--'look where I am!'” “Well, I hope he finds it comfortable!” muttered Grog, with a dry malice. “Look where I am!” resumed Beecher, trying to imitate the pretentious tones of his brother's voice. “And where is it, after all?” “Where we 'll all be, one day or other,” growled out Grog, who could not help answering his own reflections. “'And are you sure of where you are?'--that's what I 'd ask him, eh, Grog?--'are you sure of where you are?'” “That _would_ be a poser, I suspect,” said Davis, who laughed heartily; and the contagion catching Beecher, he laughed till the tears came. “I might ask him, besides, 'Are you quite sure how long you are to remain where you are?' eh, Grog? What would he say to that?” “The chances are, he 'd not answer at all,” said Davis, dryly. “No, no! you mistake him, he's always ready with a reason; and then he sets out by reminding you that he's the head of the house,--a fact that a younger brother does n't need to have recalled to his memory. Oh, Grog, old fellow, if I were the Viscount,--not that I wish any ill to Lack-ington,--not that I 'd really enjoy the thing at any cost to _him_,--but if I were--” “Well, let's hear. What then?” cried Davis, as he filled the other's glass to the top,--“what then?”