Page:Paul Clifford Vol 1.djvu/108

78 great was our hero's pride,—to throw himself on the chance of their welcome, or to publish, as it were, his exiled and crest-fallen state. As for those boon companions who had assisted him in making a wilderness of his pockets, he had already found, that that was the only species of assistance which they were willing to render him: in a word, he could not for the life of him conjecture in what quarter he should find the benefits of bed and board. While he stood with his finger to his lip, undecided and musing, but fully resolved at least on one thing—not to return to the Mug,—little Dummie, who was a good-natured fellow at the bottom, peered up in his face, and said, "Vy, Paul, my kid, you looks down in the chops: cheer up,—care killed a cat!"

Observing that this appropriate and encouraging fact of natural history did not lessen the cloud upon Paul's brow, the acute Dummie Dunnaker proceeded at once to the grand panacea for all evils, in his own profound estimation:

"Paul, my ben-cull," said he, with a knowing wink, and nudging the young gentleman in the left side, "vot do you say to a drop o'