Concerning the Duty of Fathers; More Especialy the Viscount's Roman

"Why then--who--what are you?"

"I'm Perks and Condy, wines and sperrits,--eighty-five pound,
eighteen, three--that's me, sir."

"Do you mean that you are--in possession--here?"

"Just that, sir,--ever since eight o'clock s'morning--and nothing
but sniffs--so fur." Here the bullet-headed man nodded and eyed the
knob of his stick hungrily. But at this moment the door opened, and
the dignified (though mournful) gentleman appeared, and informed
Barnabas (with a sigh) that "his Lordship begged Mr. Beverley would
walk upstairs."

Upstairs accordingly Barnabas stepped, and guided by a merry
whistling, pushed open a certain door, and so found the Viscount
busily engaged in the manufacture of a paper dart, composed of a
sheet of the Gazette, in the midst of which occupation he paused to
grip Barnabas by the hand.

"Delighted to see you, Bev," said he heartily, "pray sit down, my
dear fellow--sit anywhere--no, not there--that's the toast, deuce
take it! Oh, never mind a chair, bed'll do, eh? Yes, I'm rather
late this morning, Bev,--but then I was so late last night that I
was devilish early, and I'm making up for it,--must have steady
nerves for the fifteenth, you know. Ah, and that reminds me!" Here
the Viscount took up his unfinished dart and sighed over it.
"I'm suffering from a rather sharp attack of Romanism, my dear fellow,
my Honored Parent has been at it again, Bev, and then, I dropped two
hundred pounds in Jermyn Street last night."