Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen, but he forced his nature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a very excellent piece of worldly advice given to him by Audley Egerton. “Never let the dandies call you a prig,” said the statesman. “Many a clever fellow fails through life, because the silly fellows, whom half a word well spoken could make his claqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are, avoid the fault of most reading men: in a word, don’t be a prig!”
“I have just left Hazeldean,” said Randal. “What a good fellow he is!”
“Capital!” said the Honourable George Borrowell. “Where is he?”
“Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with his father, a thorough, rough country squire. It would be an act of charity if you would go and keep him company, or take him with you to some place a little more lively than his own lodgings.”
“What! the old gentleman has been teasing him!—a horrid shame! Why, Frank is not extravagant, and he will be very rich, eh?”
“An immense property,” said Randal, “and not a mortgage on it: an only son,” he added, turning away.
Among these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most benevolent whisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away towards Frank’s lodgings.
“The wedge is in the tree,” said Randal to himself, “and there is a gap already between the bark and the wood.”