"Living the life of a beast, damn my whiskers! dining off a solitary chop, lounging about to be cut by former associates, making vain attempts to induce my friends to go through the matter of form of putting their names to a bill, and moralizing on the fragility of human friendship, and the limits of human credit."
"Well, but have you no means of getting a livelihood?'
"What means? You don't expect me to turn painter, and be moral like yourself, do you?"
"No, indeed; but still, my dear Frank, you must do something."
"Something will turn up, perhaps."
"But if nothing should turn up, what can the end be?"
"Oh! a new broom and a crossing! That's a dernière ressource;—not a bad one, either. A man 'sees life' at a crossing;—besides, the occupation's healthy—all in the open air. I should make a fortune at it. Damme! a gentleman with a broom—that would produce an effect, I think!"
Cecil shook his head, though he could not refrain from smiling at Frank's coolness.
"You haven't such a thing as a sovereign about you, eh?" said Frank, combing the long thin hair over the top of his head, so as to hide his daily increasing baldness.
"Yes, Frank, I have, and very much at your service."