Billings the
butterman; Sharwood, the turner and blacking-maker; and the Honourable
Phelin O'Curragh, Lord Scullabogue's son, made speeches. Two or three
respectable families (your aunt, Mrs. What-d'-you-call-'em Newcome,
amongst the number) quitted the Chapel in disgust--I wrote an article of
controversial biography in the P. M. G.; set the business going in the
daily press; and the thing was done, sir. That property is a paying one
to the Incumbent, and to Sherrick over him. Charles's affairs are getting
all right, sir. He never had the pluck to owe much, and if it be a sin to
have wiped his slate clean, satisfied his creditors, and made Charles
easy--upon my conscience, I must confess that F. B. has done it. I hope I
may never do anything worse in this life, Clive. It ain't bad to see him
doing the martyr, sir: Sebastian riddled with paper pellets; Bartholomew
on a cold gridiron. Here comes the lobster. Upon my word, Mary, a finer
fish I've seldom seen."
Now surely this account of his uncle's affairs and prosperity was enough
to send Clive to Lady Whittlesea's Chapel, and it was not because Miss
Ethel had said that she and Lady Kew went there that Clive was induced to
go there too? He attended punctually on the next Sunday, and in the
incumbent's pew, whither the pew-woman conducted him, sate Mr.
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