"Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at once. "One can't

live with these great folks for nothing; and my purse, sir, look at

it"; and he held up a little token which had been netted by Amelia, and

contained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.

"You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's son shan't want, sir. My

guineas are as good as theirs, George, my boy; and I don't grudge 'em.

Call on Mr. Chopper as you go through the City to-morrow; he'll have

something for you. I don't grudge money when I know you're in good

society, because I know that good society can never go wrong. There's

no pride in me. I was a humbly born man--but you have had advantages.

Make a good use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility. There's many of

'em who can't spend a dollar to your guinea, my boy. And as for the

pink bonnets (here from under the heavy eyebrows there came a knowing

and not very pleasing leer)--why boys will be boys. Only there's one

thing I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll cut you off with

a shilling, by Jove; and that's gambling."

"Oh, of course, sir," said George.

"But to return to the other business about Amelia: why shouldn't you

marry higher than a stockbroker's daughter, George--that's what I want

to know?"

"It's a family business, sir,".says George, cracking filberts. "You

and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundred years ago."

"I don't deny it; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't deny that

Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me in the way of acquiring, by my

own talents and genius, that proud position, which, I may say, I occupy

in the tallow trade and the City of London. I've shown my gratitude to

Sedley; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-book can show.

George! I tell you in confidence I don't like the looks of Mr.

Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does not like the looks

of 'em, and he's an old file, and knows 'Change as well as any man in

London. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him. He's been dabbling

on his own account I fear. They say the Jeune Amelie was his, which was

taken by the Yankee privateer Molasses. And that's flat--unless I see

Amelia's ten thousand down you don't marry her. I'll have no lame

duck's daughter in my family. Pass the wine, sir--or ring for coffee."

With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening paper, and George knew

from this signal that the colloquy was ended, and that his papa was

about to take a nap.

He hurried upstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits. What was it that

made him more attentive to her on that night than he had been for a

long time--more eager to amuse her, more tender, more brilliant in

talk? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her at the prospect of

misfortune; or that the idea of losing the dear little prize made him

value it more?




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