The morning after, Endymion was emerging from the court-yard of the Albany, in order to call on Mr. Rodney, who, as he learnt from a casual remark in a letter from Waldershare, would be in town. The ladies were left behind for the last week of hunting, but business called Mr. Rodney home. Waldershare wrote to Endymion in the highest spirits, and more than once declared that he was the happiest of men. Just as Endymion had entered Piccadilly, he was stopped by a once familiar face; it was St. Barbe, who accosted him with great warmth, and as usual began to talk about himself. “You are surprised to see me,” he said. “It is two years since we met. Well, I have done wonders; carried all before me. By Jove, sir, I can walk into a minister’s private room with as much ease as I were entering the old den. The ambassadors are hand and glove with me. There are very few things I do not know. I have made the fortune of the ‘Chuck–Farthing,’ trebled its circulation, and invented a new style, which has put me at the head of all ‘our own correspondents.’ I wish you were at Paris; I would give you a dinner at the Rocher, which would make up for all our dinners at that ferocious ruffian, Joe’s. I gave a dinner the other day to forty of them, all ‘our own correspondents,’ or such like. Do you know, my dear fellow, when I looked round the room, there was not a man who had not done his best to crush me; running down my works or not noticing them, or continually dilating on Gushy as if the English public would never read anything else. Now, that was Christian-like of me, was not it? God, sir, if they only had but one neck, and I had been the Emperor Nero—but, I will not dwell on it; I hate them. However, it suits me to take the other line at present. I am all for fraternity and that sort of thing, and give them dinners. There is a reason why, but there is no time to talk about that now. I shall want their sweet voices—the hounds! But, my dear fellow, I am truly glad to see you. Do you know, I always liked you; and how come you to be in this quarter this fine morning?”
“I live in the Albany,” said Endymion.
“You live in the Albany!” repeated St. Barbe, with an amazed and perturbed expression. “I knew I could not be a knight of the garter, or a member of White’s—the only two things an Englishman cannot command; but I did think I might some day live in the Albany. It was my dream. And you live there! Gracious! what an unfortunate fellow I am! I do not see how you can live in the Albany with your salary; I suppose they have raised you.”
“I have left Somerset House,” said Endymion, “and am now at the Board of Trade, and am private secretary to Mr. Sidney Wilton.”
“Oh!” said St. Barbe; “then we have friends at court. You may do something for me, if I only knew what I wanted. They have no decorations here. Curse this aristocratic country, they want all the honours to themselves. I should like to be in the Board of Trade, and would make some sacrifice for it. The proprietors of the ‘Chuck–Farthing’ pay well; they pay like gentlemen; though, why I say so I do not exactly know, for no gentleman ever paid me anything. But, if I could be Secretary of the Board of Trade, or get 1500 pounds a year secure, I would take it; and I dare say I could get employed on some treaties, as I speak French, and then I might get knighted.”
“Well, I think you are very well off,” said Endymion; “carrying, as you say, everything before you. What more can you want?”
“I hate the craft,” said St. Barbe, with an expression of genuine detestation; “I should like to show them all up before I died. I suppose it was your sister marrying a lord that got you on ............