| 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 |
| 1 | 133 | 265 | 398 | 530 |
|
content himself with inquiring at what hour it was likely that the
gentleman would call, in order that being presently responsible for the
beef , greens, and sundries, he might take to be in the way at the
time. Mr Swiveller, after mentally calculating his engagements to a
nicety, replied that he should look in at from two minutes before six
and seven minutes past; and the man disappearing with this feeble
consolation, Richards Swiveller took a greasy memorandum-book from
his pocket and made an entry therein.
'
Is that a reminder, in case you should forget to call?' said Trent with
a sneer.
'
Not exactly, Fred,' replied the imperturable Richard, continuing to
write with a businesslike air. 'I enter in this little book the names of
the streets that I can't go down while the shops are open. This dinner
today closes Long Acre. I bought a pair of boots in Great Queen Street
last week, and made that no throughfare too. There's only one avenue
to the Strand left often now, and I shall have to stop up that to-night
with a pair of gloves. The roads are closing so fast in every direction,
that in a month's time, unless my aunt sends me a remittance, I shall
have to go three or four miles out of town to get over the way.'
'There's no fear of failing, in the end?' said Trent.
'
Why, I hope not,' returned Mr Swiveller, 'but the average number of
letters it take to soften her is six, and this time we have got as far as
eight without any effect at all. I'll write another tom-morrow morning.
I mean to blot it a good deal and shake some water over it out of the
pepper-castor to make it look penitent. 'I'm in such a state of mind
that I hardly know what I write' - blot - ' if you could see me at this
minute shedding tears for my past misconduct' - pepper-castor - my
hand trembles when I think' - blot again - if that don't produce the
effect, it's all over.'
By this time, Mr Swiveller had finished his entry, and he now replaced
his pencil in its little sheath and closed the book, in a perfectly grave
and serious frame of mind. His friend discovered that it was time for
him to fulfil some other engagement, and Richard Swiveller was
accordingly left alone, in company with the rosy wine and his own
meditations touching Miss Sophy Wackles.
'It's rather sudden,' said Dick shaking his head with a look of infinite
wisdom, and running on (as he was accustomed to do) with scraps of
verse as if they were only prose in a hurry; 'when the heart of a man is
depressed with fears, the mist is dispelled when Miss Wackles
appears; she's a very nice girl. She's like the red red rose that's newly
sprung in June - there's no denying that - she's also like a melody
that's sweetly played in tune. It's really very sudden. Not that there's
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