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ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 177
Air do you good 1 Here we are at Beaunash Street ; hope you've
got the key, and missis won't see you." A large butler, too well
bred to express astonishment at any event which occurred out of
doors, opened Mr. Twysden's, and let in that lamentable gentleman.
He was very pale and solemn. He gasped out a few words, intimating
his intention to fix a day to ask us to come and dine soon,
and taste that wine that Winton liked so. He waved an unsteady
hand to us. If Mrs. Twysden was on the stairs to see the condition
of her lord, I hope she took possession of the candle. Hunt
grumbled as we came out : "He might have offered us some refreshment
after bringing him all that way home. It's only half-past
one. There's no good in going to bed so soon as that. Let us go and
have a drink somewhere. I know a very good crib close by. No,
you won't 1 I say " (here he burst into a laugh which startled the
sleeping street), " I know what you've been thinking all the time in
the cab. You are a swell,—you are, too ! You have been thinking,
' This dreary old parson will try and borrow money from me.' But
I won't, my boy. I've got a banker. Look here ! Fee, faw, fum.
You understand. I can get the sovereigns out of my medical swell
in Old Parr Street. I prescribe bleeding for him—I drew him tonight.
He is a very kind fellow, Brummell Firmin is. He can't
deny such a dear old friend anything. Bless him !" And as he
turned away to some midnight haunt of his own, he tossed up his
hand in the air. I heard him laughing through the silent street,
and Policeman X, tramping on his beat, turned round and suspiciously
eyed him.
Then I thought of Dr. Firmin's dark melancholy face and eyes.
Was a benevolent remembrance of old times the bond of union
between these men ? All my house had long been asleep, when I
opened and gently closed my house-door. By the twinkling nightlamp
I could dimly see child and mother softly breathing. Oh,
blessed they on whose pillow no remorse sits ! Happy you who
have escaped temptation !
I may have been encouraged in my suspicions of the dingy
clergyman by Philip's own surmises regarding him, which were
expressed with the speaker's usual candour. " The fellow calls for
what he likes at the ' Firmin Arms,'" said poor Phil ; " and when
my father's bigwigs assemble, I hope the reverend gentleman dines
with them. I should like to see him hobnobbing with old Bumpsher,
or slapping the Bishop on the back. He lives in Sligo Street,
round the corner, so as to be close to our house and yet preserve his
own elegant independence. Otherwise, I wonder he has not installed
himself in Old Parr Street, where my poor mother's bedroom is
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