The irritable gentleman no sooner sat down than another arose, and another, and another, each demanding that he should apologise to the president for his want of courtesy, and the irritable gentleman yielded to apologise—though it was far more from eagerness to eat, than a return of good-nature.—Diggory was "assisted" in cutting up the fowl by one on his left, who began to be warmed with sympathy for the youth, now the sympathiser's stomach was allayed in some small degree by sundry hearty slices of mutton. To the drawing of the cloth Diggory experienced no further mortification: but the past was enough, in any conscience; and during the season in which that company of "highly respectable gentlemen" were masticating their viands, poor Diggory, who did not eat three mouthfuls, might most aptly be styled "the lad who felt like a fish out of water."
And now the wine was pushed about; and whether it was the little "tiff" which had taken place during the dinner, or whatever might be the cause, considerable difficulty was felt, for some time, by all the company, in attaining that sense of freedom, that warm hilariousness, which an Englishman always looks for, over the bottle, and by the charm of which, and not by the animal gust for the liquor, drinking usages have become so widely established. This uneasy feeling, however, was dissipated by degrees; and then, by the natural reaction of the human spirits, the zest for good-fellowship grew unbounded. And yet this over-heated, steamy sort of boon companionship manifested itself exactly as might be expected among "highly respectable commercial gentlemen," though poor Diggory was too ignorant of the genus to make the proper calculation. They neither called each other by familiar names, nor sang, nor shouted, nor huzzaed, nor laughed, till they hiccupped. Compliments, that out-heroded Herod in their gorgeousness of dress and brilliancy of colouring,—good-wishes,—mighty, vast, profound, coming from the "bottom of their hearts,"—for the prosperity of each other in their undertakings,—testimonies to each other's "respectability" (always first), honour, candour, probity, (take the first catalogue of the virtues you find, and supply all the rest,)—flowed out of the smiling, bubbling, fountain of their wine-warmed hearts, and wreathed itself so fantastically into the vaporous shapes of words (if that be nonsense, take it for a specimen of their speeches),—that Diggory Lawson was puzzled to determine whether they were more lunatic or tipsy.
Luckily, he found a little relief, both corporeally and mentally in nibbling at the remnant of the dessert, which the whole company forgot for wine and speechifying. Yet he had but a torturous time of it, and was still "the lad who felt like a fish out of water."
It should scarcely be omitted, that by the natural way of ascending from the mediocre to the sublime, so genial to the minds of "highly respectable commercial gentlemen," the last hour of the speechifying was entirely occupied by that grand problem,—that question of questions,—that important and absorbing interrogation of "the commercial room,"—"Is it not time to smoke?"
Now the president insisted, that eight o'clock being the established hour for "permitting to smoke" in that room, he, as president of that company, sitting there as he did, could not grant permission to smoke, since it was but just seven. And then arose the irritable little gentleman who talked so politely about "mangling" when Diggory spoilt the fowl. He really felt that he must claim the indulgence of the company: but he would appeal to every gentleman in the room, and he, most conscientiously, felt that he could safely and confidently appeal to them, and he was sure they would bear testimony that no one was more observant than himself of the rules of that room, (and then there was a general "Hear, hear!" though Diggory, in spite of his timidity, could not forbear saying "Hem!")—and he would feel it beneath him to infringe on the necessary regulations for the preservation of comfort in good society; but yet,—but yet, on the present occasion,—feeling as they all did, that warmth of esteem, and union of sentiment and feeling, and—(we omit a page here)—he thought the president of that company might take it upon him to dispense with the peculiar rule relative to smoking on that occasion.
Pro and con—the arguments were equally laborious, equally long, and equally senseless; and the president, being one of the oldest "gentlemen on the road," and though very bland in his nature, yet a stickler for custom, stuck to his point to the last, and was only worsted by the clock. Truly, Diggory Lawson, during the smoke discussion, was "the lad who felt like a fish out of water." Much more did he resemble the said unlucky fish when the smoking began, insomuch that he was compelled to seize an early opportunity of retiring to bed.
Diggory Lawson completed his journey, but returned to London with a complete mental nausea of the cockney's plan for making him into a gentleman. Torn entirely from his beloved books, he was infinitely more miserable than when their only companionship subjected him to weariness. His mind hurried with anxiety, dissipated by the unintellectual nature of his engagement, annoyed and disgusted with the manners of those he was compelled to regard as the proper associates of his leisure, he wrote home to his father entreating permission to return. One paragraph will show the character of his letter:—
"Not a single thought or habit of my short life has prepared me for such an engagement as that procured me by your friend. It was misery enough to listen to the prattle of 'unidea'd girls,' as Dr. Johnson expressed himself on a similar occasion; but of all the tortures in the world, deliver me from the company of empty, conceit-blown mortals, who have such large notions of their own importance as these 'highly respectable commercial gentlemen.' I entreat your permission to return home, for I am 'like a fish out of water.'"
The boon was readily granted,—for Diggory's mother, having never been separated from her child before, had wept every day since she parted with him. The very next month, Dig's father gave up the notion of making him into a gentleman,—for the bobbin-net speculation waned,—and there was an end to making an immense fortune in a twinkling. He embarked the little capital he had gained in the more staple manufacture of the town, took Diggory into the trade, and associating with plain, sensible men, and cultivating knowledge in his leisure hours, Diggory Lawson was happier every day, and was no longer "the lad who felt like a fish out of water."