“If you'd allow me to dine in this trim, Mr. Scanlan,” said he, “I'd ask you to order dinner.” “I was only waiting for you to give the word, sir,” said Maurice, reverting to the habit of respect at any fresh display of the other's pretensions; and opening the door, he gave a shrill whistle. The landlord himself answered the summons, and whispered a few words in Scanlan's ear. “That's it, always,” cried Maurice, angrily. “I never came into the house for the last ten days without hearing the same story. I 'd like to know who and what he is, that must always have the best that 's going?” Then turning to Merl, he added: “It's a lodger he has upstairs; an old fellow that came about a fortnight back; and if there's a fine fish or a fat turkey or a good saddle of mutton to be got, he 'll have it.” “Faix, he pays well,” said Toby, “whoever he is.” “And he has secured our salmon, I find, and left us to dine on whiting,” said Maurice. “An eighteen-pound fish!” echoed Toby; “and it would be as much as my life is worth to cut it in two.” “And he's alone, too?” “No, sir. Mr. Crow, the painter, is to dine with him. He's making drawings for him of all the wonderful places down the coast.” “Well, give us what we 're to have at once,” said Maurice, angrily. “The basket of wine was taken out of the gig?” “Yes, sir; all right and ready for you; and barrin' the fish you 'll have an elegant dinner.” This little annoyance over, the guests relished their fare like hungry men; nor, time and place considered, was it to be despised. “Digestion is a great leveller.” Mr. Merl and Mr. Scan-Ian felt far more on an equality when, the dinner over and the door closed, they drew the table close to the fire, and drank to each other in a glass of racy port. “Well, I believe a man might live here, after all,” said Merl, as he gazed admiringly on the bright hues of his variegated lower garments. “I 'm proud to hear you say so,” said Scanlan; “for, of course, you've seen a deal of life; and when I say life, I mean fashion and high style,--nobs and swells.” “Yes; I believe I have,” said Merl, lighting his cigar; “that was always my 'line.' I fancy there's few fellows going have more experience of the really great world than Herman Merl.” “And you like it?” asked Maurice, confidentially. “I do, and I do not,” said the Jew, hesitatingly. “To one like myself, who knows them all, always on terms of close intimacy,--friendship, I may say,--it 's all very well; but take a new hand just launched into life, a fellow not of their own set,--why, sir, there 's no name for the insults and outrage he'll meet with.” “But what could they do?” asked Scanlan, inquiringly. “What?--anything, everything; laugh at him, live on him, win his last guinea,--and then, blackball him!” “And could n't he get a crack at them?” “A what?” “Couldn't he have a shot at some of them, at least?” asked Maurice. “No, no,” said Mr. Merl, half contemptuously; “they don't do _that_.”