So Mr. Taplow knew in five minutes that his guest was a brother of Sir
Brian, their member; and saw the note despatched by an ostler to "Mrs.
Sarah Mason, Jubilee Row," announcing that the Colonel had arrived, and
would be with her after his dinner. Mr. Taplow did not think fit to
tell his guest that the house Sir Brian used--the Blue house--was the
Roebuck, not the King's Arms. Might not the gentlemen be of different
politics? Mr. Taplow's wine knew none.

Some of the jolliest fellows in all Newcome use the Boscawen Room at the
King's Arms as their club, and pass numberless merry evenings and crack
countless jokes there.

Duff, the baker; old Mr. Vidler, when he can get away from his medical
labours (and his hand shakes, it must be owned, very much now, and his
nose is very red); Parrot, the auctioneer; and that amusing dog, Tom
Potts, the talented reporter of the Independent--were pretty constant
attendants at the King's Arms; and Colonel Newcome's dinner was not over
before some of these gentlemen knew what dishes he had had; how he had
called for a bottle of sherry and a bottle of claret, like a gentleman;
how he had paid the postboys, and travelled with a servant like a
top-sawyer; that he was come to shake hands with an old nurse and
relative of his family. Every one of those jolly Britons thought well of
the Colonel for his affectionateness and liberality, and contrasted it
with the behaviour of the Tory Baronet--their representative.

His arrival made a sensation in the place. The Blue Club at the Roebuck
discussed it, as well as the uncompromising Liberals at the King's Arms.
Mr. Speers, Sir Brian's agent, did not know how to act, and advised Sir
Brian by the next night's mail, The Reverend Dr. Bulders, the rector,
left his card.

Meanwhile it was not gain or business, but only love and gratitude,
which brought Thomas Newcome to his father's native town. Their dinner
over, away went the Colonel and Clive, guided by the ostler, their
previous messenger, to the humble little tenement which Thomas Newcome's
earliest friend inhabited. The good old woman put her spectacles into
her Bible, and flung herself into her boy's arms--her boy who was
more than fifty years old. She embraced Clive still more eagerly and
frequently than she kissed his father. She did not know her Colonel with
them whiskers. Clive was the very picture of the dear boy as he had left
her almost twoscore years ago. And as fondly as she hung on