"Gibbon! Gibbon was an infidel, and I would not give the end of this
cigar for such a man's opinion. If Mr. Fielding was a gentleman by birth,
he ought to have known better; and so much the worse for him that he did
not. But what am I talking of, wasting your valuable time? No more smoke,
thank you. I must away into the City, but would not pass the Temple
without calling on you, and thanking my boy's old protector. You will
have the kindness to come and dine with us--to-morrow, the next day, your
own day? Your friend is going out of town? I hope, on his return, to have
the pleasure of making his further acquaintance. Come, Clive."

Clive, who had been deep in a volume of Hogarth's engravings during the
above discussion, or rather oration of his father's, started up and took
leave, beseeching me, at the same time, to come soon and see his pony;
and so, with renewed greetings, we parted.

I was scarcely returned to my newspaper again, when the knocker of our
door was again agitated, and the Colonel ran back, looking very much
agitated and confused.

"I beg pardon," says he; "I think I left my--my----" Larkins had quitted
the room by this time, and then he began more unreservedly. "My dear
young friend," says he, "a thousand pardons for what I am going to say,
but, as Clive's friend, I know I may take that liberty. I have left the
boy in the court. I know the fate of men of letters and genius: when we
were here just now, there came a single knock--a demand--that, that you
did not seem to be momentarily able to meet. Now do, do pardon the
liberty, and let me be your banker. You said you were engaged in a new
work: it will be a masterpiece, I am sure, if it's like the last. Put me
down for twenty copies, and allow me to settle with you in advance. I may
be off, you know. I'm a bird of passage--a restless old soldier."