"Or sold a rag!" said Ned. "Possibly!—Don't doubt his amiable qualities in the least.—Pass the bingo, my good fellow.—Stupid stuff, this dancing!"
"Devilish stupid!" echoed Harry Finish, across the table. "Suppose we adjourn to Fish Lane, and rattle the ivories! What say you, Mr. Lobkins?"
Afraid of the "ton's stern laugh, which scarce the proud philosopher can scorn," and not being very partial to dancing, Paul assented to the proposition; and a little party, consisting of Harry Finish, Allfair, Long Ned, and Mr. Hookey, adjourned to Fish Lane, where there was a club celebrated among men who live by their wits, at which "lush" and "baccy" were gratuitously sported in the most magnificent manner. Here the evening passed away very delightfully, and Paul went home without a "brad" in his pocket.
From that time, Paul's visits to Fish Lane became unfortunately regular, and in a very short period, we grieve to say, Paul became that distinguished character—a gentleman of three outs—"out of pocket, out of elbows, and out of
