Whereupon there had been a good-natured row when our man of fashion appeared at breakfast rigged out in all his finery, everybody clapping their hands and saying how handsome he looked--St.George in reply denouncing Talbot as a brigand of a Brummel who had stolen his clothes, tried to wear them, and then when out of fashion thrown them back on his hands.
All these, and a thousand other delightful things, it would, I say, be eminently worth while to dilate upon--( including a series of whoops and hand-springs which Todd threw against the rear wall of the big kitchen five seconds after Alec had told him of the discomfiture of "dat red-haided gemman," and of Marse Harry's good fortune)--were it not that certain mysterious happenings are taking place inside and out of the Temple house in Kennedy Square--happenings exciting universal comment, and of such transcendent importance that the Scribe is compelled, much against his will--for the present installment is entirely too short--to confine their telling to a special chapter..