"Is'h that advi'sh of a frien'?"
"Yes—very much a friend."
"That s'h'ettles it—a frien' always safe," and he sat down heavily, and almost, instantly, was asleep.
"Cole's only occupation in life seems to be to sober up so as to be able to get drunk again," said Jennings to Parkington; "and that is why we tolerate him."
"Every one of us has some fault," said Parkington. "I am——"
His voice trailed off and stopped. He was facing the doorway, and, in it, a man was standing.
He was a slender man, of medium height, with a wonderfully clean-cut face, and dark, expressive eyes. His coat and breeches were of dark-blue broad-cloth, his waistcoat of white linen, his stockings of black silk, and he carried a walking-stick. A second, he ran his eyes over the group; then, for the first time, he seemed to see Parkington. A look of incredulous amazement broke over his face.
"Parkington! by my soul, this is a surprise!" he exclaimed, coming forward with extended hand. "I thought you were rustling it with the smarts at White's."
"Brandon!" cried Sir Edward. "As I live, Brandon! Gentlemen, let me present you to Sir Charles Brandon, my very good friend and intimate."
Brandon acknowledged the introduction with sweeping grace.