Newcome's order, but was
actually at her door at five minutes past ten, having arrayed himself, to
the wonderment of Clive, and left the boy to talk to Mr. Binnie, a friend
and fellow-passenger, who had just arrived from Portsmouth, who had
dined with him, and taken up his quarters at the same hotel.
Well, then, the Colonel is launched in English society of an intellectual
order, and mighty dull he finds it. During two hours of desultory
conversation and rather meagre refreshments, the only bright spot is his
meeting with Charles Honeyman, his dead wife's brother, whom he was
mighty glad to see. Except for this meeting there was little to entertain
the Colonel, and as soon as possible he and Honeyman walked away
together, the Colonel returning to his hotel, where he found his friend
James Binnie installed in his room in the best arm-chair,
sleeping-cosily, but he woke up briskly when the Colonel entered. "It is
you, you gadabout, is it?" cried Binnie. "See what it is to have a real
friend now, Colonel! I waited for you, because I knew you would want to
talk about that scapegrace of yours."
"Isn't he a fine fellow, James?" says the Colonel, lighting a cheroot as
he sits on the table. Was it joy, or the bedroom candle with which he
lighted his cigar, which illuminated his honest features so, and made
them so to shine?
"I have been occupied, sir, in taking the lad's moral measurement: and I
have pumped him as successfully as ever I cross-examined a rogue in my
court.
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