Thanks; I should have been lost without it.

Oh! if I _had_ forgotten it!" With this awful reflection in his mind he bade a sorrowful good-night and walked off, with his head very erect, his elbows high up, and one hand fondling the nearly-neglected eyeglass.
"Pretty, isn't it ?" said Waterford, as he disappeared.
"It is--rot," said Horace, emphatically.

"Why ever don't you laugh him out of it ?" "My dear boy, you might as well try to laugh the hair off his head.
I've tried it a dozen times.

After all, the poor dear fellow means no harm." "But what does he do now ?" "Oh, don't ask me.

According to his own account he's the fastest man about town--goes to all the shows, hobnobs with all the swells, smokes furious cigars, and generally `mashes.' But my private notion is he moons about the streets with the handle of his stick in his mouth and looks in a few shop windows, and gets half a dozen oysters for supper, and then goes home to bed.