No one can suppose that Honeyman laid a complete statement of his affairs before the negotiator who was charged to look into them. No debtor does confess all his debts, but breaks them gradually to his man of business, factor or benefactor, leading him on from surprise to surprise; and when he is in possession of the tailor’s little account, introducing him to the bootmaker. Honeyman’s schedule I felt perfectly certain was not correct. The detainees against him were trifling. “Moss of Wardour Street, one hundred and twenty—I believe I have paid him thousands in this very transaction,” ejaculates Honeyman. “A heartless West End tradesman hearing of my misfortune—all these people a linked together, my dear Pendennis, and rush like vultures upon their prey!—Waddilove, the tailor, has another writ out for ninety-eight pounds; a man whom I have made by my recommendations! Tobbins, the bootmaker, his neighbour in Jermyn Street, forty-one pounds more, and that is all—I give you my word, all. In a few months, when my pew-rents will be coming in, I should have settled with those cormorants; otherwise, my total and irretrievable ruin, and the disgrace and humiliation of a prison attends me. I know it; I can bear it; I have been wretchedly weak, Pendennis: I can say mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, and I can—bear—my—penalty.” In his finest moments he was never more pathetic. He turned his head away, and concealed it in a handkerchief not so white as those which veiled his emotions at Lady Whittlesea’s. How by degrees this slippery penitent was induced to make other confessions; how we got an idea of Mrs. Ridley’s account from him, of his dealings with Mr. Sherrick, need not be mentioned here. The conclusion to which Colonel Newcome’s ambassador came was, that to help such a man would be quite useless; and that the Fleet Prison would be a most wholesome retreat for this most reckless divine. Ere the day was out, Messrs. Waddilove and Tobbins had conferred with their neighbour in St. James’s, Mr. Brace; and there came a detainer from that haberdasher for gloves, cravats, and pocket-handkerchiefs, that might have done credit to the most dandified young Guardsman. Mr. Warrington was on Mr. Pendennis’s side, and urged that the law should take its course. “Why help a man,” said he, “who will not help himself? Let the law sponge out the fellow’s debts; set him going again with twenty pounds when he quits the prison, and get him a chaplaincy in the Isle of Man.” I saw by the Colonel’s grave kind face that these hard opinions did not suit him. “At all events, sir, promise us,” we said, “that you will pay nothing yourself—that you won’t see Honeyman’s creditors, and let people, who know the world better, deal with him.” “Know the world, young man!” cries Newcome; “I should think if I don’t know the world at my age, I never shall.” And if he had lived to be as old as Jahaleel, a boy could still have cheated him.