"Now I'm ready to do anything you like," said the barrister as he came out of the bed-room, and the two men went out arm-in-arm, exulting in their youth and health, casting aside all care for the nonce, determined to enjoy themselves. For, not being young men of the new school, they _could_ enjoy themselves, and were not ashamed of their capacity for pleasure. They were young barbarians who did not even have the good taste to effect the elegant virtue of _ennui_, if they had it not. They could laugh at a play; they could enjoy their pipes and grog as they chatted in their rooms; they could devour steaks with a healthy appetite; they despised mashers and lemon-squash; in short, were Philistines and not effeminate beings of the new style, full of fads and affectations, serenely soaring above all generous virtues and vices. They dined in the Gaiety grill-room, not without a cheering bottle of Burgundy, and then adjourned upstairs for a cigar, and a cup of black coffee, with its accompanying liqueur of cognac. Having now reached the point of perfect physical comfort, and the fit state of mind for appreciation of amusement, the question arose whither to go next. "The Promenade Concerts would be the best place to go to," said Dr. Duncan. "Why, man, they don't commence for another two months yet," replied the barrister, laughing. "You are right; you are more up to these things than I am. Well, suppose as we are here we drop into the Gaiety Theatre: Nelly Farren and Terry are always amusing." "It's the best thing we can do--time's up too, so let's move." Having enjoyed a burlesque, which was attractive in consequence rather of the cleverness of the two above-mentioned comedians than the humour of the author; the two young men returned to the Temple, to finish up the evening in Hudson's chambers with an hour's chat over pipes and hot whisky. The conversation commenced to assume rather a thoughtful tone, as it often does when two old friends, who have not seen each other for some time, are together. "Having answered all your cross-examination as to my doings, it's my turn to pump you now," Dr. Duncan was saying. "How are you getting on at the bar?" "Badly, very badly. I wish to God I had never taken up such a profession. I was never cut out for a lawyer." "But I see your name in the papers sometimes--" "_Sometimes!_ but it's a struggling, miserable sort of a practice. I wish I had become a leech like you, Duncan. I might have done something then. Now, _you_ were cut out for a barrister." "How do you make that out?" "Because you are steady--not a volatile ass like I am. It is this idleness, this waiting for briefs, that ruins a weak man. You see, Duncan, I'm a restless being that must be doing something, and doing it hard. I can work hard when I get the work, but when I can't get it, then I must be playing hard." "Dissipating hard, I suppose you mean," said the doctor with a smile. "Well, that's about it."