Thus talking to himself, our hero found himself in the neighbourhood of a well-known inn, and a smile from the barmaid—a showy specimen of her class—was quite sufficient to induce him to enter. The fair creature, as she said, ‘was a little low, and wanted a fellow to talk to.’ Wentworth soon rose to the occasion, and when he left the hostelry, it was with a flushed cheek and a jaunty air. Indeed, he was quite mirthful till he reached a little cottage where he had spent many a riotous hour. To his consternation, the blinds were down, and there was an unspeakable air of desolation about the place, as if had come there the grim unbidden visitor whose name is Death. He summoned enough courage to enter, and came out, after a very short stay, looking pale and sad. Death had indeed been there, and taken away the breadwinner of the family, leaving wife and children desolate.
It was late when he reached the rendezvous of his companions, seedy fellows, but very happy, nevertheless, unshaven, with rather big beards and long hair, much given to smoking, and not over-clean in person or linen.
‘You’re late, young man,’ said the eldest of the party, as Wentworth entered, ‘and will have to stand glasses all round.’
‘Certainly; but hear my excuse. I promised to be here at eight; it is now ten. I want an S. and B. I have not a rap in my pocket—absolutely cleared out.’
‘Too bad! and yesterday was pay-day,’ said the chairman. ‘Wentworth, you profligate, I am ashamed of you. What an example you set these young people!’
‘Shocking, shocking!’ was the cry all round.
‘Strike, but hear,’ said Wentworth. ‘You know poor Canning?’ naming a comedian popular at the music-halls.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he’s dead; and there’s a wife and five children, and an invalid aunt, without a halfpenny. I happened to come by the cottage as I was coming here, and I never saw a sadder sight. In one room the poor dead body; in another, women in hysterics, children weeping, and a vile harpy of a landlady standing at the door wanting her money. I paid her something to keep her quiet. That’s why I’m cleaned out, knowing that you generous youths would give me something for the poor man’s wife and family.’
Immediately every hand was put into its owner’s pocket, and Wentworth was content with the result, and he prepared to enjoy himself after the fashion of the room, which was well patronized by gentlemen of the press, including the dreariest of shorthand writers and the most elegant of penny-a-liners. As one went out to deliver his copy another came in who had done so. The climax was reached when there came a gang of Parliamentary reporters from the Gallery with the news of a great division, a Ministerial defeat and a Parliamentary crisis, who seemed inclined to sit up late talking shop. Most of them had a cheerful glass, and when that is indulged in, it is astonishing how witty a man becomes, and what a cause of wit in other men. A good deal of profane language was used, and now and then a little Latin or a scrap of Greek. The atmosphere was as critical as it was clouded with tobacco. Wentworth took part in many a war of words, and