Gusty departed to do the message, somewhat in wonder, for Edward loved a fine horse. But the truth was, Edward's disposable money, which he had intended for the purchase of a hunter, had a serious inroad made upon it by the debts he had discharged for other men, and he was forced to forego the pleasure he had proposed to himself in the next hunting season; and he did not like to consume any one's time, or raise false expectations, by affecting to look at disposable property with the eye of a purchaser, when he knew it was beyond his reach; and the flimsy common-places of “I'll think of it,” or “If I don't see something better,” or any other of the twenty hackneyed excuses which idle people make, after consuming busy men's time, Edward held to be unworthy. He could ride a hack and deny himself hunting for a whole season, but he would not unnecessarily consume the useful time of any man for ten minutes.
This may be sneered at by the idle and thoughtless; nevertheless, it is a part of the minor morality which is ever present in the conduct of a true gentleman.
Edward had promised to join Dick's dinner-party on an impromptu invitation, and the clock striking the appointed hour warned Edward it was time to be off; so, jumping up on a jaunting car, he rattled off to Dick's lodgings, where a jolly party was assembled ripe for fun.
Amongst the guests was a rather remarkable man, a Colonel Crammer, who had seen a monstrous deal of service—one of Tom Durfy's friends whom he had asked leave to bring with him to dinner. Of course, Dick's card and a note of invitation for the gallant colonel were immediately despatched; and he had but just arrived before Edward, who found a bustling sensation in the room as the colonel was presented to those already assembled, and Tom Durfy giving whispers, aside, to each person touching his friend; such as—“Very remarkable man”—“Seen great service”—“A little odd or so”—“A fund of most extraordinary anecdote,” &c., &c.
Now this Colonel Crammer was no other than Tom Loftus, whose acquaintance Dick wished to make, and who had been invited to the dinner after a preliminary visit; but Tom sent an excuse in his own name, and preferred being present under a fictitious one—this being one of the odd ways in which his humour broke out, desirous of giving people a “touch of his quality” before they knew him. He was in the habit of assuming various characters; a methodist missionary—the patentee of some unheard-of invention—the director of some new joint-stock company—in short, anything which would give him an opportunity of telling tremendous bouncers was equally good for Tom. His reason for assuming a military guise on this occasion was to bother Moriarty, whom he knew he should meet, and held a special reason for tormenting; and he knew he could achieve this, by throwing all the stories Moriarty was fond of telling about his own service into the shade, by extravagant inventions of “hair-breadth 'scapes” and feats by “flood and field.” Indeed, the dinner would not be worth mentioning but for the extraordinary capers Tom cut on the occasion, and the unheard-of lies he squandered.
Dinner was announced by Andy, and with good appetite soup and fish were soon despatched; sherry followed as a matter of necessity. The second course appeared, and was not long under discussion when Dick called for the “champagne.”
Andy began to drag the tub towards the table, and Dick, impatient of delay, again called “champagne.”
“I'm bringin' it to you, sir,” said Andy, tugging at the tub.
“Hand it round the table,” said Dick.
Andy tried to lift the tub, “to hand it round the table;” but, finding he could not manage it, he whispered to Dick, “I can't get it up, sir.”