“The Belvoir! Did you hear how I smoked Rutland? The story has been in the clubs this month past. I bet him that my bag would weigh more than his. He got three and a half brace, but I shot his liver-coloured pointer, so he had to pay. But as to hunting, what amusement can there be in flying about among a crowd of greasy, galloping farmers? Every man to his own taste, but Brookes’s window by day and a snug corner of the macao table at Watier’s by night, give me all I want for mind and body. You heard how I plucked Montague the brewer!” “I have been out of town.” “I had eight thousand from him at a sitting. ‘I shall drink your beer in future, Mr. Brewer,’ said I. ‘Every blackguard in London does,’ said he. It was monstrous impolite of him, but some people cannot lose with grace. Well, I am going down to Clarges Street to pay Jew King a little of my interest. Are you bound that way? Well, good-bye, then! I’ll see you and your young friend at the club or in the Mall, no doubt,” and he sauntered off upon his way. “That young man is destined to take my place,” said my uncle, gravely, when Brummell had departed. “He is quite young and of no descent, but he has made his way by his cool effrontery, his natural taste, and his extravagance of speech. There is no man who can be impolite in so polished a fashion. He has a half-smile, and a way of raising his eyebrows, for which he will be shot one of these mornings. Already his opinion is quoted in the clubs as a rival to my own. Well, every man has his day, and when I am convinced that mine is past, St. James’s Street shall know me no more, for it is not in my nature to be second to any man. But now, nephew, in that buff and blue suit you may pass anywhere; so, if you please, we will step into my _vis-à-vis_, and I will show you something of the town.”