But he spoke to Mr.and Mrs.Rincer with that sort of good nature with which a young Prince addresses his father's subjects; never dreaming that those bonnes gens were his equals in life.
Mr.Foker's behaviour was quite different.

He inquired for Rincer and the cold in his nose, told Mrs.Rincer a riddle, asked Miss Rincer when she would be ready to marry him, and paid his compliments to Miss Brett, the other young lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness which set all these ladies in a giggle; and he gave a cluck, expressive of great satisfaction, as he tossed off his mixture which Miss Rincer prepared and handed to him.
"Have a drop," said he to Pen, "it's recommended to me by the faculty as a what-do-you-call-'em--a stomatic, old boy.

Give the young one a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly." Poor Pen took a glass, and everybody laughed at the face which he made as he put it down--gin, bitters, and some other cordial was the compound with which Mr.Foker was so delighted as to call it by the name of Foker's own.

As Pen choked, sputtered, and made faces, the other took occasion to remark to Mr.Rincer that the young fellow was green, very green, but that he would soon form him; and then they proceeded to order dinner--which Mr.Foker determined should consist of turtle and venison; cautioning the landlady to be very particular about icing the wine.
Then Messrs.

Foker and Pen strolled down the High Street together--the former having a cigar in his mouth, which he had drawn out of a case almost as big as a portmanteau.