Penge answered it so immediately, as to justify
the supposition that when it rang, he had once
again had his hand on the door-handle.

Mr. Blorage was about to speak to the excellent
Penge, when he was arrested by seeing that
modest butler seat himself with much humility
in the chair his master had just vacated—the
enchanted chair. He was no sooner seated than
his appearance instantly changed. His countenance
assumed an air of much self-complacency;
he drew out from the depths of a mysterious
pocket, a snuff-box; and he took a large pinch
of snuff in a calm and deliberate manner.

"It is my only vice, sir," he remarked; "I
trust it is not disagreeable? Will you take a
pinch? No ceremony."

Villains, ruffians, rogues, and fast men, are
above being surprised; or, if they do feel any
slight attack of that weakness, they take care
not to show it. But plain honest natural
creatures are constantly surprised, and as
constantly show it. Mr. Blorage gazed at his
butler, open-mouthed and open-eyed, and in the
greatest surprise, until he was suddenly recalled
to a perception of the case, by seeing the face of
the little spirit peeping out behind the chair.

The Lady Verita had performed her part of
the contract, and had seated the butler in it by
some marvellous power. Mr. Blorage must now
perform his part of the contract.

As he rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through
his hair, and blew his nose, perfectly
unable to decide what questions he should put to
Penge, the confident air of the man, shining
through an obsequious mock humility, moved
Mr. Blorage to a hearty and irresistible fit of
laughter. Though he was sorry for Penge,
though he felt that he alone was to blame for
Penge's peculiar situation, restrain himself from
laughter he could not.

"Vell, Blorage," says Penge, with great self-
possession, "you 'ave a right to amuse yourself
at your pleasure; but you're drunk!"

"Penge?"

"Blorage! I ain't to be put out of the truth
by you. You're drunk."

"Drunk or sober, I think I am a gentleman,
Penge?"

"You may think so," returned the model
butler, with great contempt; "but I don't. My
ideas of a real gent, ain't by no manner o' means
the same as yours, Blorage."

"And what are your ideas?" asked Dick, in
a hurry, glad to catch hold of so safe a question.

"My ideas," replied the model butler, rising
with the occasion, "are racers—out-and-outers
—sport—life. Them's my ideas of a real
gentleman, not your slow games. Blorage! you're
a muff."

Dick blushed a little, in mortification; but it
was clearly his duty to get this, his first victim,
out of the chair of truth as speedily as
possible.

"At all events, I hope you are comfortable,
Penge? I hope that at least you like my
service?"

"No, I don't, Blorage. I am formed for
enjyment; and how can I know enjyment under
a mean-spirited screw that keeps the keys of
his own cellar?"

"But you agreed with me, Penge, when I
engaged you, that it was the most satisfactory
arrangement for all parties. Penge, you said
you preferred it."

"Blorage, I considered as it looked well so
to say; and having heerd as you was soft and
easy, what I said to myself was, 'Penge! you
stick that into him, and you'll have the key
before your first year is out.' Which is what I
expect, Blorage, or you and me parts."

Burning to release the prisoner, Mr. Blorage
was racking his brain for the last question, when
a furious peal of the door-bell suggested a very
safe one.

"Who can that be, Penge?"

"That awful young scamp your brother!"

Then, instantly rising, Mr. Penge said, in his
most unexceptionable manner, "I ask your
pardon, sir. I felt so very giddy just now, sir,
that if I had not took the liberty to take a seat,
I must have fainted."

"Never mind. Make no excuses, Penge."

"Thank you, sir. I believe that is Mr.
Williams's ring, sir. He is such a cheerful young
gentleman, sir, that I know the liveliness of his
ring." And Penge disappeared with alacrity.

The good Dick rushed to the chair, intending
to occupy it himself during his brother's visit.
But his brother was too quick for him.

"Halloa, Dick! What do you want with the
best chair in the room? It is very unlike such
a good-natured chap as you to appropriate the
most comfortable seat."

He was in the chair! Dick sat down on the
edge of another chair, and wiped his forehead.

William, Billy, or Bill, safely ensconced in
the magic chair, assumed a very rakish used-
up indifferent sort of appearance; and the
brothers were silent. Probably William was
uncomfortable in his strange and novel position.
Dick was racking his brain for three questions
—three simple harmless questions, that should
not commit the sitter. The weather? Nothing
better. Bill could never compromise himself
about the weather.

"Is it a fine night, Billy?"

"Rather too fine for me. I want to skulk off
to Barnes's without being seen, and I came here
on my way, partly to blind mother, and partly
to twist a fi'-pun' note out of you." (Barnes's
was a disreputable gaming-place.)

"How is our mother?" interrupted Dick, in
a violent hurry.

"Precious cross. Bothering as much about
my goings on, as if I was cutting my teeth."

"Are—are—are you in love, Bill?"

"Yes; with myself. What's the good of
loving anything else? I don't find any one so
deuced fond of me as to forget himself or
herself."

"I thought Florence——" interrupted Dick,
hastily.

"Florence be hanged! Do you suppose I
don't see that you are spooney upon Florence?