As I spoke, Clive was looking in wonder, and the Colonel’s countenance assumed an appearance of the most dolorous sympathy. Nevertheless, as with a great effort, he fell to talking about Tom Jones again, and continued:
“No, sir, I have no words to express my indignation against such a fellow as Tom Jones. But I forgot that I need not speak. The great and good Dr. Johnson has settled that question. You remember what he said to Mr. Boswell about Fielding?”
“And yet Gibbon praises him, Colonel,” said the Colonel’s interlocutor, “and that is no small praise. He says that Mr. Fielding was of the family that drew its origin from the Counts of Hapsburg; but——”
“Gibbon! Gibbon was an infidel, and I would not give the end of this cigar for such a man’s opinion. If Mr. Fielding was a gentleman by birth, he ought to have known better; and so much the worse for him that he did not. But what am I talking of, wasting your valuable time? No more smoke, thank you. I must away into the City, but would not pass the Temple without calling on you, and thanking my boy’s old protector. You will have the kindness to come and dine with us—to-morrow, the next day, your own day? Your friend is going out of town? I hope, on his return, to have the pleasure of making his further acquaintance. Come, Clive.”
Clive, who had been deep in a volume of Hogarth’s engravings during the above discussion, or rather oration of his father’s, started up and took leave, beseeching me, at the same time, to come soon and see his pony; and so, with renewed greetings, we parted.
I was scarcely returned to my newspaper again, when the knocker of our door was again agitated, and the Colonel ran back, looking very much agitated and confused.
“I beg pardon,” says he; “I think I left my—my——” Larkins had quitted the room by this time, and then he began more unreservedly. “My dear young friend,” says he, “a thousand pardons for what I am going to say, but, as Clive’s friend, I know I may take that liberty. I have left the boy in the court. I know the fate of men of letters and genius: when we were here just now, there came a single knock—a demand—that, that you did not seem to be momentarily able to meet. Now do, do pardon the liberty, and let me be your banker. You said you were engaged in a new work: it will be a masterpiece, I am sure, if it’s like the last. Put me down for twenty copies, and allow me to settle with you in advance. I may be off, you know. I’m a bird of passage—a restless old soldier.”
“My dear Colonel,” said I, quite touched and pleased by this extreme kindness, “my dun was but the washerwoman’s boy, and Mrs. Brett is in my debt, if I am not mistaken. Besides, I already have a banker in your family.”
“In my family, my dear Sir?”
“Messrs. Newcome, in Threadneedle Street, are good enough to keep my money for me when I have any, and I am happy to say they have some of mine in hand now. I am almost sorry that I am not in want, in order that I might have the pleasure of receiving a kindness from you.” And we shook hands for the fourth time that morning, and the kind gentleman left me to rejoin his son.