"Mrs. Clanfrizzle, my friend Mr. Lorrequer; thinks he'll stay the summer
in town. Mrs. Clan--, should like him to be one of us." This latter was
said sotto voce, and was a practice he continued to adopt in presenting
me to his several friends through the room.

Miss Riley, a horrid old fright, in a bird of paradise plume, and corked
eyebrows, gibbetted in gilt chains and pearl ornaments, and looking as
the grisettes say, "superbe en chrysolite"--"Miss Riley, Captain
Lorrequer, a friend I have long desired to present to you--fifteen
thousand a-year and a baronetcy, if he has sixpence"--sotto again.
"Surgeon M'Culloch--he likes the title," said Tom in a whisper--"Surgeon,
Captain Lorrequer. By the by, lest I forget it, he wishes to speak to
you in the morning about his health; he is stopping at Sandymount for the
baths; you could go out there, eh!" The tall thing in green spectacles
bowed, and acknowledged Tom's kindness by a knowing touch of the elbow.
In this way he made the tour of the room for about ten minutes, during
which brief space, I was according to the kind arrangements of
O'Flaherty, booked as a resident in the boarding-house--a lover to at
least five elderly, and three young ladies--a patient--a client--a second
in a duel to a clerk in the post-office--and had also volunteered
(through him always) to convey, by all of his Majesty's mails, as many
parcels, packets, band-boxes, and bird-cages, as would have comfortably
filled one of Pickford's vans. All this he told me was requisite to my
being well received, though no one thought much of any breach of compact
subsequently, except Mrs. Clan--herself. The ladies had, alas! been
often treated vilely before; the doctor had never had a patient; and as
for the belligerent knight of the dead office, he'd rather die than fight
any day.