“How,” said Bob—“what do you mean?”
“Mean, why the traps have nibbled him. He is arrested, and gone to a lock-up shop, a place of mere accommodation for gentlemen to take up their abode, for the purpose of arranging their affairs, and where they can uninterruptedly make up their minds whether to give bail, put in appearance and defend the suit, or take a trip to Abbott's Priory; become a three months' student in the college of art, and undergo the fashionable ceremony of white-washing.”
“I begin to understand you now,” said Bob, “and the only difference between our two friends is, that one has willingly put on a chain for life—”
“And the other may in all probability (continued Tom,) have to chaff his time away with a chum—perhaps not quite so agreeable, though it really is possible to be very comfortable, if a man can reconcile himself to the loss of liberty, even in “durance vile.”
By this time they were walking leisurely along Piccadilly,
“And marching without any cumbersome load, They mark'd every singular sight on the road.”
“Who is that meagre looking man and waddling woman, who just passed us?” inquired Tallyho.
“An old Bencher,” was the reply; “there you see all that is left of a man of haut ton, one who has moved in the highest circles; but alas! bad company and bad play have reduced him to what he now is. He has cut up and turn'd down very well among the usurers and attornies; but it is impossible to say of him, as of his sirloin of a wife (for she cannot be called a rib, or at all events a spare rib) that there is any thing like cut and come again. The poor worn-out Exquisite tack'd himself to his Lady, to enable him to wipe out a long score, and she determined on taking him for better for worse, after a little rural felicity in a walk to have her fortune told by a gipsy at Norwood. He is now crippled in pocket and person, and wholly dependent upon bounty for the chance of prolonging a miserable existence. His game is up. But what is life but a game, at which every one is willing to play? one wins and another loses: why there have been as many moves among titled persons, Kings, Queens, Bishops, Lords and Knights, within the last century, as there are in a game at chess. Pawns have been taken and restored in all classes, from the Sovereign, who pawns or loses his crown, to the Lady whose reputation is in pawn, and becomes at last not worth half a crown. Shuffling, cutting, dealing out and dealing in, double dealing and double faces, have long been the order of the day. Some men's cards are all trumps, whilst others have carte blanche; some honours count, whilst others stand for nothing. For instance, did not the little man who cast up his final accounts a short time back at St. Helena, like a Corsican conjurer, shuffle and cut about among kings and queens, knaves and asses, (aces I mean) dealing out honours when he liked, and taking trumps as he thought fit?—did he not deal and take up again almost as he pleased, having generally an honour in his sleeve to be played at command, or un roi dans le marche; by which cheating, it was scarcely possible for any one to get fair play with him, till, flushed by success, and not knowing how to bear his prosperity, he played too desperately and too long? The tables were turned upon him, and his enemies cheated him, first of his liberty, and ultimately of his life.”
At this moment Tallyho, who was listening in close attention to his Cousin, struck his foot against a brown paper parcel which rolled before him.—“Hallo!” exclaimed he, “what have we here?—somebody has dropped a prize.”
“It is mine, Sir,” said an old woman, dropping them a curtsey with a smile which shone through her features, though thickly begrimed with snuff.