“Pshaw! sentimental,” cried Long Ned, a little alarmed at the thought of Paul's gliding from those clutches which he thought had now so firmly closed upon him. “Why, you surely don't mean, after having once tasted the joys of independence, to go back to the boozing-ken, and bear all Mother Lobkins's drunken tantrums! Better have stayed with MacGrawler, of the two!” “You mistake me,” answered Paul; “I mean solely to make it up with her, and get her permission to see the world. My ultimate intention is--to travel.” “Right,” cried Ned, “on the high-road,--and on horseback, I hope.” “No, my Colossus of Roads! no. I am in doubt whether or not I shall enlist in a marching regiment, or--Give me your advice on it! I fancy I have a great turn for the stage, ever since I saw Garrick in 'Richard.' Shall I turn stroller? It must be a merry life.” “Oh, the devil!” cried Ned. “I myself once did Cassio in a barn, and every one swore I enacted the drunken scene to perfection; but you have no notion what a lamentable life it is to a man of any susceptibility. No, my friend, no! There is only one line in all the old plays worthy thy attention,-- “'Toby [The highway] or not toby, that is the question.' “I forget the rest!” “Well,” said our hero, answering in the same jocular vein, “I confess I have 'the actor's high ambition.' It is astonishing how my heart beat when Richard cried out, 'Come bustle, bustle!' Yes, Pepper, avaunt!-- “'A thousand hearts are great within my bosom.'” “Well, well,” said Long Ned, stretching himself, “since you are so fond of the play, what say you to an excursion thither to-night? Garrick acts.” “Done!” cried Paul. “Done!” echoed lazily Long Ned, rising with that blase air which distinguishes the matured man of the world from the enthusiastic tyro,-“done! and we will adjourn afterwards to the White Horse.” “But stay a moment,” said Paul; “if you remember, I owed you a guinea when I last saw you,--here it is!” “Nonsense,” exclaimed Long Ned, refusing the money,--“nonsense! You want the money at present; pay me when you are richer. Nay, never be coy about it; debts of honour are not paid now as they used to be. We lads of the Fish Lane Club have changed all that. Well, well, if I must!” And Long Ned, seeing that Paul insisted, pocketed the guinea. When this delicate matter had been arranged,--“Come,” said Pepper, “come, get your hat; but, bless me! I have forgotten one thing.” “What?” “Why, my fine Paul, consider. The play is a bang-up sort of a place; look at your coat and your waistcoat, that's all!” Our hero was struck dumb with this argumentum ad hominem. But Long Ned, after enjoying his perplexity, relieved him of it by telling him that he knew of an honest tradesman who kept a ready-made shop just by the theatre, and who could fit him out in a moment.