‘“Well, well,” said the old fellow, “perhaps not--perhaps not. Tom--” ‘“Sir--” ‘“I know everything about you, Tom; everything. You’re very poor, Tom.” ‘“I certainly am,” said Tom Smart. “But how came you to know that?” ‘“Never mind that,” said the old gentleman; “you’re much too fond of punch, Tom.” ‘Tom Smart was just on the point of protesting that he hadn’t tasted a drop since his last birthday, but when his eye encountered that of the old gentleman he looked so knowing that Tom blushed, and was silent. ‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman, “the widow’s a fine woman--remarkably fine woman--eh, Tom?” Here the old fellow screwed up his eyes, cocked up one of his wasted little legs, and looked altogether so unpleasantly amorous, that Tom was quite disgusted with the levity of his behaviour-- at his time of life, too! ‘“I am her guardian, Tom,” said the old gentleman. ‘“Are you?” inquired Tom Smart. ‘“I knew her mother, Tom,” said the old fellow: “and her grandmother. She was very fond of me--made me this waistcoat, Tom.” ‘“Did she?” said Tom Smart. ‘“And these shoes,” said the old fellow, lifting up one of the red cloth mufflers; “but don’t mention it, Tom. I shouldn’t like to have it known that she was so much attached to me. It might occasion some unpleasantness in the family.” When the old rascal said this, he looked so extremely impertinent, that, as Tom Smart afterwards declared, he could have sat upon him without remorse. ‘“I have been a great favourite among the women in my time, Tom,” said the profligate old debauchee; “hundreds of fine women have sat in my lap for hours together. What do you think of that, you dog, eh!” The old gentleman was proceeding to recount some other exploits of his youth, when he was seized with such a violent fit of creaking that he was unable to proceed. ‘“Just serves you right, old boy,” thought Tom Smart; but he didn’t say anything. ‘“Ah!” said the old fellow, “I am a good deal troubled with this now. I am getting old, Tom, and have lost nearly all my nails. I have had an operation performed, too--a small piece let into my back--and I found it a severe trial, Tom.” ‘“I dare say you did, Sir,” said Tom Smart. ‘“However,” said the old gentleman, “that’s not the point. Tom! I want you to marry the widow.” ‘“Me, Sir!” said Tom. ‘“You,” said the old gentleman. ‘“Bless your reverend locks,” said Tom (he had a few scattered horse- hairs left)--“bless your reverend locks, she wouldn’t have me.” And Tom sighed involuntarily, as he thought of the bar. ‘“Wouldn’t she?” said the old gentleman firmly. ‘“No, no,” said Tom; “there’s somebody else in the wind. A tall man--a confoundedly tall man--with black whiskers.” ‘“Tom,” said the old gentleman; “she will never have him.” ‘“Won’t she?” said Tom. “If you stood in the bar, old gentleman, you’d tell another story.” ‘“Pooh, pooh,” said the old gentleman. “I know all about that.” ‘“About what?” said Tom.