“He looks rich, and talks rich,” said a third.
“A decided, independent way of expressing his sentiments; those moneyed men generally have.”
“Good heavens!” ejaculated Spendquick, who had been keeping his eye anxiously fixed on the pair, “do look; X. Y. is actually taking out his pocket-book; he is coming this way. Depend on it he has got our bills—mine is due to-morrow!”
“And mine too,” said another, edging off. “Why, it is a perfect guet-apens.”
Meanwhile, breaking away from the baron, who appeared anxious to detain him, and failing in that attempt, turned aside, as if not to see Dick’s movements,—a circumstance which did not escape the notice of the group, and confirmed all their suspicions,—Mr. Avenel, with a serious, thoughtful face, and a slow step, approached the group. Nor did the great Roman general more nervously “flutter the dove-cots in Corioli,” than did the advance of the supposed X. Y. agitate the bosoms of Lord Spendquick and his sympathizing friends. Pocket-book in hand, and apparently feeling for something formidable within its mystic recesses, step by step came Dick Avenel towards the fireplace. The group stood still, fascinated by horror.
“Hum,” said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat.
“I don’t like that hum at all,” muttered Spendquick. “Proud to have made your acquaintance, gentlemen,” said Dick, bowing.
The gentlemen thus addressed bowed low in return.
“My friend the baron thought this not exactly the time to—” Dick stopped a moment; you might have knocked down those four young gentlemen, though four finer specimens of humanity no aristocracy in Europe could produce,—you might have knocked them down with a feather! “But,” renewed Avenel, not finishing his sentence, “I have made it a rule in life never to lose securing a good opportunity; in short, to make the most of the present moment. And,” added he, with a smile which froze the blood in Lord Spendquick’s veins, “the rule has made me a very warm man! Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with one of these”—every hand retreated behind the back of its well-born owner, when, to the inexpressible relief of all, Dick concluded with,—“a little soiree dansante,” and extended four cards of invitation.
“Most happy!” exclaimed Spendquick. “I don’t dance in general; but to oblige X—I mean, to have a better acquaintance, sir, with you—I would dance on the tight-rope.”