The things we do!

Nokes and all." It has vanished: it is to be found no
more: neither by night nor by day--unless the ghosts of good fellows
still haunt it.
As the genial talk and glass go round, and after Clive and his friend
have modestly answered the various queries put to them by good old Tom
Sarjent, the acknowledged Praeses of the assembly and Sachem of this
venerable wigwam, the door opens and another well-known figure is
recognised with shouts as it emerges through the smoke. "Bayham, all
hail!" says Tom. "Frederick, I am right glad to see thee!"
Bayham says he is disturbed in spirit, and calls for a pint of beer to
console him.
"Hast thou flown far, thou restless bird of night?" asks Father Tom, who
loves speaking in blank verses.
"I have come from Cursitor Street," says Bayham, in a low groan. "I have
just been to see a poor devil in quod there. Is that you, Pendennis? You
know the man--Charles Honeyman."
"What!" cries Clive, starting up.
"O my prophetic soul, my uncle!" growls Bayham.


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