Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas. Lever Charles James

your naturally correct judgment.” Against these doubts I pleaded the necessity of not being ungrateful to myself, not refusing a very proper acknowledgment of my own skill and astuteness; and, lastly, I suggested a glancing kind of hope that, like those famed heroes who dated their great fortune to having gone to sleep beneath the shadow of some charmed tree, or near the ripple of a magic fountain, that I, too, should arise from this banquet with some brilliant view of life, and see the path to success, bright and clear before me, through the hazy mists of fancy.

      As I reasoned thus, I passed various ordinaries, stopping with a kind of instinct at each, to gaze at the luscious rounds of beef so daintily tricked out with sprigs of parsley; the appetizing cold sirloins, so beautifully stratified with fat and lean; with hams that might tempt a rabbi; not to speak of certain provocative little paragraphs about “Ox-tail and Gravy ready at all hours.” “Queer world it is,” said I; “and there are passing at every instant, by tens and twenties, men and women and children, famishing and hungry, who see all these things separated from them by a pane of window-glass; and yet they only gather their rags more closely together, clench their thin lips tighter, and move on. Not that alone; but here am I, with means to buy what I want, and yet I must not venture to cross that threshold, as though my rags should be an insult to their broadcloth.” “Move on, youngster,” quoth a policeman at this moment, and thus put an end to my soliloquy.

      Wearied with rambling, and almost despairing of myself, I was about to cross Carlisle Bridge, when the blazing effulgence of a great ruby-colored lamplight attracted my attention, over which, in bright letters, ran the words, “Killeen’s Tavern and Chop House,” and beneath: “Steak, potatoes, and a pint of stout, one shilling and fourpence.” Armed with a bold thought, I turned and approached the house.

      Two or three waiters, in white aprons, were standing at the door, and showed little inclination to make way for me as I advanced.

      “Well,” cried one, “who are you? Nobody sent for you.”

      “Tramp, my smart fellow,” said the other; “this an’t your shop.”

      “Is n’t this Killeen’s?” said I, stoutly.

      “Just so,” said the first, a little surprised at my coolness.

      “Well, then, a young gentleman from the college sent me to order dinner for him at once, and pay for it at the same time.”

      “What will he have?”

      “Soup, and a steak, with a pint of port,” said I; just the kind of dinner I had often heard the old half-pay officers talking of at the door of the Club in Foster Place.

      “What hour did he say?”

      “This instant. He’s coming down; and as he starts by the mail at seven, he told me to have it on the table when he came.”

      “All right; four-and-six,” said the waiter, holding out his hand for the money.

      I gave him my crown piece; and as he fumbled for the sixpence I insinuated myself quietly into the hall.

      “There’s your change, boy,” said the waiter; “you need n’t stop.”

      “Will you be so good, sir,” said I, “to write ‘paid’ on a slip of paper for me, just to show the gentleman?”

      “Of course,” said he, taken possibly by the flattering civility of my address; and he stepped into the bar, and soon reappeared with a small scrap of paper, with these words: “Dinner and a pint of port, 4s. 6d. – paid.”

      “I’m to wait for him here, sir,” said I, most obsequiously.

      “Very well, so you can,” replied he, passing on to the coffee-room.

      I peeped through the glass door, and saw that in one of the little boxes into which the place was divided, a table was just spread, and a soup-tureen and a decanter placed on it. “This,” thought I, “is for me;” for all the other boxes were already occupied, and a great buzz of voices and clashing of plates and knives going on together.

      “Serve the steak, sir,” said I, stepping into the room and addressing the head-waiter, who, with a curse to me to “get out of that,” passed on to order the dish; while I, with an adroit flank movement, dived into the box, and, imitating some of the company, spread my napkin like a breastplate across me. By a great piece of fortune the stall was the darkest in the room, so that when seated in a corner, with an open newspaper before me, I could, for a time at least, hope to escape detection.

      “Anything else, sir?” cried a waiter, as he uncovered the soup, and deposited the dish of smoking beef-steak.

      “Nothing,” responded I, with a voice of most imposing sternness, and manfully holding up the newspaper between us.

      The first three or four mouthfuls I ate with a faint heart; the fear of discovery, exposure, and expulsion almost choked me. A glass of port rallied, a second one cheered, and a third emboldened me, and I proceeded to my steak in a spirit of true ease and enjoyment. The port was most insidious; place it wherever I would on the table, it invariably stole over beside me, and, in spite of me, as it were, the decanter would stand at my elbow. I suppose it must be in reality a very gentlemanlike tipple; the tone of sturdy self-reliance, the vigorous air of command, the sense of absolutism it inspires, smack of Toryism; and as I sipped, I felt myself rising above the low prejudices I once indulged in against rank and wealth, and insensibly comprehending the beauty of that system which divides and classifies mankind.

      The very air of the place, the loud, overbearing talk, the haughty summons to the waiter, the imperious demand for this or that requisite of the table, all conspired to impress me with the pleasant sensation imparted to him who possesses money. Among the various things called for on every side, I remarked that mustard seemed in the very highest request. Every one ate of it; none seemed to have enough of it. There was a perpetual cry, “Mustard! I say, waiter, bring me the mustard;” while one very choleric old gentleman, in a drab surtout and a red nose, absolutely seemed bursting with indignation as he said, “You don’t expect me to eat a steak without mustard, sir?” – a rebuke at which the waiter grew actually purple.

      Now, this was the very thing I had myself been doing, – actually eating “a steak without mustard!” What a mistake, and for one who believed himself to be in every respect conforming to the choicest usages of high life! What was to be done? The steak had disappeared; no matter, it was never too late to learn, and so I cried out, “Waiter, the mustard here!” in a voice that almost electrified the whole room.

      I had scarcely concealed myself beneath my curtain, – “The Times,” – when the mustard was set down before me, with a humble apology for forgetfulness. I waited till he withdrew, and then helping myself to the unknown delicacy, proceeded to eat it, as the phrase is, “neat.” In my eagerness, I swallowed two or three mouthfuls before I felt its effects; and then a sensation of burning and choking seized upon me. My tongue seemed to swell to thrice its size; my eyes felt as if they would drop out of my head; while a tingling sensation, like “frying,” in my nostrils, almost drove me mad; so that after three or four seconds of silent agony, during which I experienced about ten years of torture, unable to endure more, I screamed out that “I was poisoned,” and, with wide-open mouth and staring eyes, ran down the coffee-room.

      Never was seen such an uproar! Had an animal from a wild-beast menagerie appeared among the company, the consternation could scarce be greater; and in the mingled laughter and execrations might be traced the different moods of those who resented my intrusion. “Who is this fellow? How did he get in? What brought him here? What’s the matter with him?” poured in on all sides, – difficulties the head-waiter thought it better to deal with by a speedy expulsion than by any lengthened explanation.

      “Get a policeman, Bob!” said he to the next in command; and the order was given loud enough to be heard by me.

      “What the devil threw him amongst us?” said a testy-looking man in green spectacles.

      “I came to dine, sir,” said I; “to have my steak and my pint of wine, as I hoped, in comfort, and as one might have it in a respectable tavern.”

      A jolly burst of laughter