Throughout his life he had always evinced a great fondness for works of art and mechanical appliances, and the exhibition of patent articles in the museum was to him one of its most noticeable and attractive features.
He, therefore, found no difficulty in disposing of his time till the dinner hour. Upon his return to Sanderson’s Hotel he found his friend awaiting his re-appearance.
Dinner was served, which was done ample justice to by both gentlemen. It was washed down by divers and sundry glasses of Rhenish wine.
Our hero had thrown aside the habits of the humble artisan, and went in for an aristocratic course of regimen.
He was not adapted for it—neither did it suit him; but there is an old saying, “When at Rome do as Rome does.” Peace was mindful of this, and gave himself all the airs and graces of a high-born patrician.
An hour or two passed over, during which period Mr. Kempshead lounged on the sofa, puffed his fragrant weed, and partook of a cup of black coffee.
“Now, then, what shall us boys go in for?” he said, addressing himself to Peace.
“I’m in your hands, and leave the matter to your disposal,” returned the latter.
“Very good—so be it. In the first place, old fellow, I want to introduce you to a little drum, which is not far from here. It’s a club I belong to—the members are a jolly lot of fellows. By the by, do you play?”
“Do I what?”