his hands and feet—which bore him out,
being the admiration of his bootmaker and
hosier.

When we left school, Spanner was articled
to the eminent firm of Pierie and Mandril,
tind I became a house pupil at the
Hardborough Hospital.

We used to meet at our tailor's in the
High Street, (Buckram and Bourne), to hold
serious consultations on costume. The dashing
Lord Stilton was Spanner's model, and
Spanner was mine. He amazed the town
with gorgeous velvet-lined coats; the person
of my inimitable friend soon became the
rage in dowdy Hardborough. Very soon a
great battle was fought with the ancient
stewards of Hardborough balls, on the
subject of shiny sticking-plaister boots as against
the universal pumps; and Count Spanner—as
he loved to be called—triumphed, and from
that time held undisputed sway as the
arbiter elegantiarum of Hardborough.

The odd part of the business was, that his
absolute demeanour was so perfect that he
beat clown the prejudices of what he profanely
called " fogeyism." Richard, his elder brother
by twenty years—a coarse, brutal, money-
making man—in his milder moments, and in
his younger brother's absence, spoke of him
in a manner that showed he was rather proud
of the dandy of the family.

Harry Spanner was no fool, even where
money was concerned; he promised to make
a model flash attorney. But it was not so
destined. One day an uncle—the South
American uncle of French romance—died,
leaving my Glass of Fashion, Count Harry,
five thousand pounds. The narrow limits of
an attorney's office could no longer contain
his swelling soul; he determined to enter a
University and become a barrister, if not
Lord Chancellor. So, he went to Cambridge
—that wonderful city where young gentlemen
of a certain taste get up a toilette of waistcoats,
curious fine linen, and jewellery to
wine with each other, as if they were going
to a fancy dress ball.

Out of sight and sound of Hardborough
Count Spanner soon blazed out in proportions
worthy of his genius. His rooms were
furnished magnificently; his costume was
irreproachable, and varied thrice a day; his
jewellery, series of studs and rings, was
brilliant beyond custom. They were obtained,
like much of his furniture, at first hand
through the firm of Spanner of Hardborough.
His extravagance was tempered with unusual
calculation. When a duke's son honoured him
with a visit, he took care to have his
champagne: not from old Damsen in. St. Blaze's
Street, but from his brother Richard's cellars.
And then Dick Spanner would say, as often as
possible, on 'Change, or at the Pig and Whistle
where he nightly smoked his pipe, " I have just
been sending olf a case of champagne to my
brother Harry, for a party he is giving to the
young Earl of Faddle, the Duke of Foodle's
eldest son, and a lot of nobs. Yes, yes, Harry's
no fool; he knows what he's about, and holds
his head with the best of them.' And so he
did, although the English Neapolitan Baron,
Piccanini, and the Irish Roman Count, Solini,
both since well known in Capel Court, were
his rivals.

But, if Dick were proud of Harry and sounded
his trumpet in Hardborough, Harry did not
return the compliment. He ignored the place
and the people. His cards bore Mr. Harry
Fitznormanton Spanner, and when asked
whether he was any relation to the Earls of
Normanton, his ambiguous answer confirmed
the flattering suspicions produced by the
shape of his nose.

To Hardborough he returned, rarely, and
for brief periods. One long vacation was
passed in Greece, whence he returned with
an overpowering Albanian costume; another,
in the Highlands, where he learned to
dress and dance the Highland Fling to
perfection.

At the distance of twenty years, I remember
the overpowering sensation he made in
Hardborough, when he once condescended
to pass a few days there; how he was the
disgust of the respectable fathers, the admiration
of the daughters, and the model of the sons,
when he dashed through the main street in
his mail phaeton, witli white horses, white hat,
white coat, and white trowsers: the perfect
double of his friend and debtor, that
celebrated steeple-chaser Lord Lanercost.

The boots at the Royal Hotel told stories
of their performances for many years
afterwards, always ending with "the next time
he come there, he'd forgot his whip, had
Master Harry."

Meanwhile, I removed to London, and took
up my abode in the Borough, to walk Guy's.
Where soon a horrid rumour reached me that
Harry Spanner had been rusticated for
ploughing up the quad, of St. Bezant's College,
with a sofa harnessed to a brace of Newfoundland
dogs, one moonlight night, after a wine
party at Lord Foodle's rooms; that he had
spent all his legacy, had been cut by his rich
brothers, and disowned by his venerable
father. But, the following week, ten days
after the great St. Swindle Stakes had been
won by Lord Knavesden's Hit or Miss, big
Richard Spanner met me in Lombard Street,
and shaking me most cordially by the hand,
which he had never done before, invited me
to take a steak at Joe's, and asked me if I had
heard the news of Harry? He and his friend
Lord Foodle had won forty thousand .pounds
between them on the St. Swindle Stakes,
having backed Hit or Miss largely at fifty to
one. " I have seen," he continued, " the money
standing to Harry's account at Dubup's, our
banker; and Harry tells me he stands to
win as much more if Hit or Miss carries off
the St. Sellem Stakes, which he is sure to
do; Harry has backed him for the double
event."