Whilst Sir Philip was damning himself, Mr. Percival ran to the boat-house for assistance, and they carried the body into the house. The elderly gentleman who had accompanied Mr. Percival now made his way through the midst of the noisy crowd, and directed what should be done to restore Mr. Hervey’s suspended animation. Whilst he was employed in this benevolent manner, Clarence’s worthy friends were sneering at him, and whispering to one another; “Ecod, he talks as if he was a doctor,” said Rochfort. “‘Pon honour, I do believe,” said St. George, “he is the famous Dr. X----; I met him at a circulating library t’other day.” “Dr. X---- the writer, do you mean?” said Sir Philip; “then, damn me, we’d better get out of his way as fast as we can, or he’ll have some of us down in black and white; and curse me, if I should choose to meet with myself in a book.” “No danger of that,” said Rochfort; “for how can one meet with oneself in a book, Sir Philip, if one never opens one?--By Jove, that’s the true way.” “But, ‘pon my honour,” said St. George, “I should like of all things to see myself in print; ‘twould make one famously famous.” “Damn me, if I don’t flatter myself, though, one can make oneself famous enough to all intents and purposes without having any thing to say to these author geniuses. You’re a famous fellow, faith! to want to see yourself in print--I’ll publish this in Bond-street: damn it, in point of famousness, I’d sport my Random against all the books that ever were read or written, damn me! But what are we doing here?” “Hervey’s in good hands,” said Rochfort, “and this here’s a cursed stupid lounge for us--besides, it’s getting towards dinner-time; so my voice is, let’s be off, and we can leave St. George (who has such a famous mind to be in the doctor’s book) to bring Clary after us, when he’s ready for dinner and good company again, you know--ha! ha! ha!” Away the faithful friends went to the important business of their day. When Clarence Hervey came to his senses he started up, rubbed his eyes, and looked about, exclaiming--“What’s all this?--Where am I?--Where’s Baddely?--Where’s Rochfort?--Where are they all?” “Gone home to dinner,” answered Mr. St. George, who was a hanger-on of Sir Philip’s; “but they left me to bring you after them. Faith, Clary, you’ve had a squeak for your life! ‘Pon my honour, we thought at one time it was all over with you--but you’re a rough one: we shan’t have to ‘pour over your grave a full bottle of red’ as yet, my boy--you’ll do as well as ever. So I’ll step and call a coach for you, Clary, and we shall be at dinner as soon as the best of ‘em after all, by jingo! I leave you in good hands with the doctor here, that brought you to life, and the gentleman that dragged you out of the water. Here’s a note for you,” whispered Mr. St. George, as he leaned over Clarence Hervey--“here’s a note for you from Sir Philip and Rochfort: read it, do you mind, to _yourself_.”