so,--"so, sir, you are going to turn out an Admirable Crichton on my
hands, it seems. I hear of nothing but your billiard-playing, your
horsemanship, and your cricketing, while Mr. Eccles tells me that your
progress with him is equally remarkable."

He stopped and seemed to expect me to make some rejoinder; but I could
not utter a word, and felt overwhelmed at the observation and notice his
speech had drawn upon me.

"It's better I should tell you at once," resumed my father, "that I
dislike prodigies. I dislike because I distrust them. The fellow who
knows at fourteen what he might reasonably have known at thirty is not
unlikely to stop short at fifteen and grow no more. I don't wish to be
personal, but I have heard it said Cleremont was a very clever boy."

The impertinence of this speech, and the laughter it at once excited,
served to turn attention away from me; but, through the buzz and murmur
around, I overheard Cleremont say to Hotham, "I shall pull him up short
one of these days, and you 'll see an end of all this."

"Now," continued my father, "if Eccles had told me that the boy was a
skilful hand at sherry-cobbler, or a rare judge of a Cuban cigar, I
'd have reposed more faith in the assurance than when he spoke of his
classics."

"He ain't bad at a gin-sling with bitters, that I must say," said
Eccles, whose self-control or good-humor, or mayhap some less worthy
trait, always carried him successfully over a difficulty.

"So, sir," said my father, turning again on me, "the range of your
accomplishments is complete. You might be a tapster or a jockey. When
the nobility of France came to ruin in the Revolution, the best blood of
the kingdom became barbers and dancing-masters: so that when some fine
morning that gay gentleman yonder will discover that he is a beggar,
he 'll have no difficulty in finding a calling to suit his tastes, and
square with his abilities. What's Hotham grumbling about? Will any one
interpret him for me?"

"Hotham is saying that this claret is corked," said the sea-captain,
with a hoarse loud voice.

"Bottled at home!" said my father, "and, like your own education,
Hotham, spoiled for a beggarly economy."

"I 'm glad you 've got it," muttered Cleremont, whose eyes glistened
with malignant spite. "I have had enough of this; I 'm for coffee," and
he arose as he spoke.

"Has Cleremont left us?" asked my father.

"Yes; that last bottle has finished him. I told you before, Nixon k