“Then tell me,” said Sparkle, “what you are at.”
“First,” inquired Merry well, “let me know what is your object in asking such a question.”
This being briefly explained, together with the absolute necessity there was for his leaving town without delay—
“Now,” said he, “I am at liberty to give you a sketch of circumstances which have befallen me since I saw you last.”
“Come then,” said Dashall, “we will proceed to Piccadilly, spend a comfortable afternoon, and ship you off by the mail from the White Horse Cellar at eight o'clock.”
“With all my heart,” was the reply. “Well, now you must understand, I am a sort of dabbler in professions. I was liberated from the high wall of the Priory by the Insolvent Debtor's Act; and since the unfortunate representation to the Old Boy, which deprived me of the needful supplies, I have tried my hand in three different ways.”
“And which are they?”
“Love, law, and literature,” continued Merry well.
“A very pretty combination,” said Dashall, “and are you able to make them blend comfortably together?”
“Nothing more easy in the world. In the first place, a lady has taken a fancy to me, which fancy I am willing to indulge; in return for which she provides me with every indulgence.—I profess to be principal in the office of a” lawyer of established practice, who suffers me to share in the profits of such business as I can obtain. In the way of literature I have as yet done but little, though I am encouraged to hope much, from the success of others. Indeed I am told, if I can but write libels for John Bull, I may make a rapid fortune.”