presently the man passed again, and this time was cruel enough to
exclaim, 'Don't forget, Brum, don't forget--goose at four!' The poor
Beau must have wished the earth to open under him. He was equally
imprudent in the way in which he treated an old acquaintance who arrived
at the town to which he had retreated, and of whom he was fool enough to
be ashamed. He generally took away their characters summarily, but on
one occasion was frightened almost out of his wits by being called to
account for this conduct. An officer who had lost his nose in an
engagement in the Peninsula, called on him, and in very strong terms
requested to know why the Beau had reported that he was a retired
hatter. His manner alarmed the rascal, who apologized, and protested
that there must be a mistake; he had never said so. The officer retired,
and as he was going, Brummell added: 'Yes, it must be a mistake, for now
I think of it, I never dealt with a hatter without a nose.'

So much for the good breeding of this friend of George IV. and the Duke
of York.

His affectation was quite as great as his impudence: and he won the
reputation of fastidiousness--nothing gives more prestige--by dint of
being openly rude. No hospitality or kindness melted him, when he
thought he could gain a march. At one dinner, not liking the champagne,
he called to the servant to give him 'some more of that cider:' at
another, to which he was invited in days when a dinner was a charity to
him, after helping himself to a wing of capon, and trying a morsel of
it, he took it up in his napkin, called to his dog--he was generally
accompanied by a puppy, even to parties, as if one at a time were not
enough--and presenting it to him, said aloud, 'Here, _Atons_, try if you
can get your teeth through that, for I'm d--d if I can!'