"Not very. Bless you, I'm pretty well used to ill-treatment now. You've only rubbed the pile of my collar the wrong way, just as that awkward black rascal would brush me." "Bless me! I think I know your voice." "Somehow, I think I know yours." "You ain't Colonel Tomkins, are you?" "No." "Nor Count Castor?" "No." "Then I'm in error." "No you're not. I was the Colonel once; then I became the Count by way of loan; and then I came here--as he said by mistake." "Why, my dear fellow, I'm delighted to speak to you. How did you wear?" "So-so." "When I first saw you, I thought you the handsomest Petersham in town. Your velvet collar, cuffs, and side-pockets, were superb; and when you were the Colonel, upon my life you were the sweetest cut thing about the waist and tails I ever walked with." "You flatter me." "Upon my honour, no." "Well, I can return the compliment; for a blue, with chased buttons and silk lining, you beat anything I ever had the honour of meeting. But I suppose, as you are here, you are not the Cornet now?" "Alas! no." "May I ask why?" "Certainly. His scoundrel of a valet disgraced his master's cloth and me at the same time. The villain went to the Lowther Arcade--took me with him by force. Fancy my agony; literally accessory to handing ices to milliners' apprentices and staymakers; and when the wretch commenced quadrilling it, he dos-a-dos'd me up against a fat soap-boiler's wife, in filthy three-turned-and-dyed common satin." "Scoundrel!" "Rascal! But he was discovered--he reeled home drunk. _I_, that is, as it's known, _we_ make the men. The Cornet saw him, and thrashed him soundly with a three-foot Crowther." "That must have been delightful to your feelings." "Not very." "Why not? revenge is sweet." "So it is; but as the Cornet forgot to order him to take me off, I got the worst of the drubbing. I was dreadfully cut about. Two buttons fearfully lacerated--nothing but the shanks left." "How did it end?" "The valet mentioned something about wages and assault warrants, so I was given to him to make the matter up. Between you and I, the Cornet was very hard up." "Indeed!" "Certain of it. You remember the French-grey trousers we used to walk out with--those he strapped so tight over the remarkably chatty and pleasant French-polished boots whose broken English we used to admire so much?" "Of course I do; they were the most charming greys I ever met. They beat the plaids into fits; and the plaids were far from ungentlemanly, only they would always talk with a sham Scotch accent, and quote the 'Cotter's Saturday Night.'" "Certainly that was a drawback. But to return to our friends, and the Cornet's friends, they must have been bad, for those very greys were seated." "Impossible!" "Fact, I assure you. My tails were pinned over the patch for three weeks." "How did they bear it?"