The Honourable Edward Stafford rushed also to the lobby, arrayed in a dressing-gown, having sprung from the hands of a hair-dresser, who was performing a piece of work upon his ringlets for which he did not consider the valet qualified; and, to give additional effect to the figure which he now made in the midst of his servants, he appeared with the one side of his head in curls, while a comb was left sticking in the other. “What! in the name of the Tower of Babel!” cried, or rather squeaked, Mr Stafford—“what is the meaning of this?” Alexander, whose natural humour returned at the risible scene before him, approached smiling; and, extending his hand, said—“What! don’t you know me, Ned?” “Back! back!” exclaimed the honourable and gentle Edward Stafford; “the effluvia of thy garments is poison to my nostrils! Faugh!—know thee—why thou art a moving tar barrel!” There was some cause for this last remark; for Alexander had slept with the common seamen during his passage to London, and his clothes yet bore witness to the pitchy fragrance of his bed-chamber. But Mr Stafford calling for an opera-glass, raised it to his eye, and, surveying him for a few moments, inquired—“Why, who are you? Your face—I have seen it somewhere! Who are you?” “Have you forgot Cambridge and Alexander Hamilton?” said the other. “Sandy Hamilton!” exclaimed Stafford, rising an inch, as if in surprise—“we always called you Sandy. But, come, let me hear this lark—’tis a prime one, I will vow, from your appearance; and yet you were no lad for life either,” he added, as he coldly held out his forefinger, and turned to conduct him into an apartment. Alexander, having related to him his present situation requested from him payment of such a portion of his college debt as he might find convenient. “A plaguy odd affair, ’pon my honour!” drawled out Stafford; “but I’m sorry I can’t oblige you just at this moment. Never was a poor dog so confoundedly dunned! I am obliged to bilk the bailiffs at every corner. ’Pon my word, Sandy, I have had as many _Bills of Middlesex_ served upon me, within these six months, as would fill a stage coach! Nothing could be so provoking!—My rascal of a tailor, too, got a _Quare claussum_ popped into my hands only this morning! Lost a cool five hundred last night, also. So, you see I am involved on all sides. There is no way of redemption for me, that I can see, but taking a walk across Blackfriars. I do say that it is confoundedly hard that one can’t oblige one’s friends—but I hope you see, my dear fellow, that it is impossible. I am sorry for you, but I can’t help it at present—you must see that plain enough. Only, at the same time, your outward man seems approaching to the third and fourth letters of the alphabet—and, if there be anything in my wardrobe that would be of service——”