he waiters in the Club are huddled
round the captain's mutton-chop. He roars out the most horrible curses
at John for not bringing the pickles; he utters the most dreadful
oaths because Thomas has not arrived with the Harvey Sauce; Peter comes
tumbling with the water-jug over Jeames, who is bringing 'the glittering
canisters with bread.' Whenever Shindy enters the room (such is the
force of character), every table is deserted, every gentleman must dine
as he best may, and all those big footmen are in terror.

He makes his account of it. He scolds, and is better waited upon in
consequence. At the Club he has ten servants scudding about to do his
bidding.

Poor Mrs. Shindy and the children are, meanwhile, in dingy lodgings
somewhere, waited upon by a charity-girl in pattens.

CHAPTER XLII--CLUB SNOBS

Every well-bred English female will sympathize with the subject of
the harrowing tale, the history of Sackville Maine, I am now about to
recount. The pleasures of Clubs have been spoken of: let us now glance
for a moment at the dangers of those institutions, and for this purpose
I must introduce you to my young acquaintance, Sackville Maine.

It was at a ball at the house of my respected friend, Mrs. Perkins, that
I was introduced to this gentleman and his charming lady. Seeing a young
creature before me in a white dress, with white satin shoes; with a pink
ribbon, about a yard in breadth, flaming out as she twirled in a polka
in the arms of Monsieur de Springbock, the German diplomatist; with a
green wreath on her head, and the blackest hair this individual set eyes
on--seeing, I say, before me a charming young woman whisking beautifully
in a beautiful dance, and presenting, as she wound and wound round the
room, now a full face, then a three-quarter face, then a profile--a
face, in fine, which in every way you saw it, looked pretty, and rosy,
and happy, I felt (as I trust) a not unbecoming curiosity regarding the
owner of this pleasant countenance, and asked Wagley (who was standing
by, in conversation with an acquaintance) who was the lady in question?

'Which?' says Wagley.

'That one with the coal-black eyes,' I replied.

'Hush!' says he; and the gentleman with whom he was talking moved off,
with rather a discomfited air.

When he was gone Wagley burst out laughing. 'COAL-BLACK eyes!' said
he; 'you've just hit it. That's Mrs. Sackville Maine, and that was her
husband who just went away. He's a coal-merchan