art a mercenary varlet; yes, knave, mark that, a mercenary varlet." The
sleepy Ganymede replied not, and the wrath of Mr. Gordon subsided into a
low, interrupted, internal muttering of strange oaths, which rolled and
grumbled, and rattled in his throat, like distant thunder.

At length he cheered up a little--"Sir," said he, addressing Dartmore,
"it is a sad thing to be dependant on these low persons; the wise among
the ancients were never so wrong as when they panegyrized poverty: it is
the wicked man's tempter, the good man's perdition, the proud man's
curse, the melancholy man's halter."

"You are a strange old cock," said the unsophisticated Dartmore, eyeing
him from head to foot; "there's half a sovereign for you."

The blunt blue eyes of Mr. Gordon sharpened up in an instant; he seized
the treasure with an avidity, of which the minute after, he seemed
somewhat ashamed; for he said, playing with the coin, in an idle,
indifferent manner--"Sir, you show a consideration, and, let me add, Sir,
a delicacy of feeling, unusual at your years. Sir, I shall repay you at
my earliest leisure, and in the meanwhile allow me to say, that I shall
be proud of the honour of your acquaintance."

"Thank-ye, old boy," said Dartmore, putting on his glove before he
accepted the offered hand of his new friend, which, though it was
tendered with great grace and dignity, was of a marvellously dingy and
soapless aspect.

"Harkye! you d--d son of a gun!" cried Mr. Gordon, abruptly turning from
Dartmore, after a hearty shake of the hand, to the man at the counter--
"Harkye! give me change for this half sovereign, and be d--d to you--and