“And why did n't Sir Joseph think of that when I told him what had happened? All he said was, 'Be of good cheer, Butler; the world will go round even after the loss of a despatch-bag.'” “So like him,” said Skeffy; “the levity of that man is the ruin of him. They all say so at the Office.” “I don't know what they say at the Office; but I can declare that so perfect a gentleman and so fine a fellow I never met before.” Skeffy turned to the glass over the chimney, smoothed his moustaches, and pointed their tips most artistically, smiling gracefully at himself, and seeming to say, “You and I, if we were not too modest, could tell of some one fully his equal.” “And what's to be done,--what's to come of this?” asked Tony, after a short silence. “I 'll have to report you, Master Tony. I 'll have to write home: 'My Lord,--The messenger Butler arrived here this morning to say that he confided your Lordship's despatches and private instructions to a most agreeable gentleman, whose acquaintance he made at St. Jean de Maurienne; and that the fascinating stranger, having apparently not mastered their contents up to the present--'” “Go to the------” “No, Tony, I shall not; but I think it not at all improbable that such will be the destination his Lordship will assign assistant-messenger Butler. The fact is, my boy, your career in our department is ended.” “With all my heart! Except for that fine fellow I saw at Turin, I think I never met such a set of narrow-minded snobs.” “Tony, Tony,” said the other, “when Moses, in the 'Vicar of Wakefield,'--and I take it he is more familiar to you than the other of that name,--was 'done' by the speculator in green spectacles, he never inveighed against those who had unfortunately confided their interests to his charge. Now, as to our department--” “Confound the department! I wish I had never heard of it. You say it's all up with me, and of course I suppose it is; and, to tell you the truth, Skeffy, I don't think it signifies a great deal just now, except for that poor mother of mine.” Here he turned away, and wiped his eyes hurriedly. “I take it that all mothers make the same sort of blunder, and never will believe that they can have a blockhead for a son till the world has set its seal on him.” “Take a weed, and listen to me,” said Skeffy, dictatorially, and he threw his cigar-case across the table, as he spoke. “You have contrived to make as bad a _début_ in your career as is well possible to conceive.” “What's the use of telling me that? In your confounded passion for hearing yourself talk, you forget that it is not so pleasant for me to listen.”