In fact, it was his fixed purpose to pick a quarrel with Walker, and to drive him, if possible, from Mr. Eglantine's shop. “Do you mean to give me the lie, I say, Mr. Hooker Walker?”
“For Heaven's sake, Amos, hold your tongue!” exclaimed the Captain, to whom the name of Hooker was as poison; but at this moment a customer stepping in, Mr. Amos exchanged his ferocious aspect for a bland grin, and Mr. Walker walked into the studio.
When in Mr. Eglantine's presence, Walker, too, was all smiles in a minute, sank down on a settee, held out his hand to the perfumer, and began confidentially discoursing with him.
“SUCH a dinner, Tiny my boy,” said he; “such prime fellows to eat it, too! Billingsgate, Vauxhall, Cinqbars, Buff of the Blues, and half-a-dozen more of the best fellows in town. And what do you think the dinner cost a head? I'll wager you'll never guess.”
“Was it two guineas a head?—In course I mean without wine,” said the genteel perfumer.
“Guess again!”
“Well, was it ten guineas a head? I'll guess any sum you please,” replied Mr. Eglantine: “for I know that when you NOBS are together, you don't spare your money. I myself, at the “Star and Garter” at Richmond, once paid—”
“Eighteenpence?”
“Heighteenpence, sir!—I paid five-and-thirty shillings per 'ead. I'd have you to know that I can act as a gentleman as well as any other gentleman, sir,” answered the perfumer with much dignity.
“Well, eighteenpence was what WE paid, and not a rap more, upon my honour.”