After this speach, the old genlmn sunk down on the sofa, and puffed as much smoke out of his mouth as if he'd been the chimley of a steam-injian. I was pleased, I confess, with the sean, and liked to see this venrabble and virtuous old man a-nocking his son about the hed; just as Deuceace had done with Mr. Richard Blewitt, as I've before shown. Master's face was, fust, red-hot; next, chawk-white: and then sky-blew. He looked, for all the world, like Mr. Tippy Cooke in the tragady of Frankinstang. At last, he mannidged to speek. “My lord,” says he, “I expected when I saw you that some such scheme was on foot. Swindler and spendthrift as I am, at least it is but a family failing; and I am indebted for my virtues to my father's precious example. Your lordship has, I perceive, added drunkenness to the list of your accomplishments, and, I suppose, under the influence of that gentlemanly excitement, has come to make these preposterous propositions to me. When you are sober, you will, perhaps, be wise enough to know, that, fool as I may be, I am not such a fool as you think me; and that if I have got money, I intend to keep it--every farthing of it, though you were to be ten times as drunk, and ten times as threatening as you are now.” “Well, well, my boy,” said Lord Crabs, who seemed to have been half asleep during his son's oratium, and received all his sneers and surcasms with the most complete good-humor; “well, well, if you will resist, tant pis pour toi. I've no desire to ruin you, recollect, and am not in the slightest degree angry but I must and will have a thousand pounds. You had better give me the money at once; it will cost you more if you don't.” “Sir,” says Mr. Deuceace, “I will be equally candid. I would not give you a farthing to save you from--” Here I thought proper to open the doar, and, touching my hat, said, “I have been to the Cafe de Paris, my lord, but the house is shut.” “Bon: there's a good lad; you may keep the five francs. And now, get me a candle and show me down stairs.” But my master seized the wax taper. “Pardon me, my lord,” says he. “What! a servant do it, when your son is in the room? Ah, par exemple, my dear father,” said he, laughing, “you think there is no politeness left among us.” And he led the way out. “Good night, my dear boy,” said Lord Crabs. “God bless you, sir,” says he. “Are you wrapped warm? Mind the step!” And so this affeckshnate pair parted. CHAPTER III. MINEWVRING.