The simplest excuse I can make for myself is that I was a young
snob, and couldn't help it. Many fellows are at that age. Some grow
out of it, and some don't. And the Gibsons were by way of spoiling
me, because I was Leah's bosom friend's brother, and I gave myself
airs in consequence.

As I sat perfectly content, telling Leah all about poor Barty,
another visitor was announced--a Mr. Scatcherd, whom I didn't know;
but I saw at a glance that it would not do to be supercilious with
Mr. Scatcherd. He was quite as tall as I, for one thing, if not
taller. His tailor might have been Poole himself; and he was
extremely good-looking, and had all the appearance and manners of a
man of the world. He might have been a Guardsman. He was not that,
it seemed--only a barrister.

He had been at Eton, had taken his degree at Cambridge, and ignored
me just as frankly as I ignored Tom, Dick, and Harry--whoever they
were; and I didn't like it at all. He ignored everybody but Leah and
her mamma: her papa was not there. It turned out that he was the
only son of the great wholesale furrier in Ludgate Hill, the largest
house of the kind in the world, with a branch in New York and
another in Quebec or Montreal. He had been called to the bar to
please a whim of his father's.

He had been at the Gibson party on Christmas-eve, and had paid Leah
much attention there; and came to tell them that his mother hoped to
call on Mrs. Gibson on the following day. I was savagely glad that
he did not succeed in monopolizing Leah; not even I could do that.
She was kind to us all round, and never made any differences in her
own house.

Mr. Scatcherd soon took his departure, and it was then that I heard
all about him.

[Illustration: ENTER MR. SCATCHERD]

There was no doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Gibson were immensely flattered
by the civilities of this very important and somewhat consequential
young man, and those of his mother, which were to follow; for within
a week the Gibsons and Leah dined with Mr. and Mrs. Scatcherd in
Portland Place.

On this occasion Mr. Gibson was, as usual, very funny, it seems.
Whether his fun was appreciated I doubt, for he confided to me that
Mr. Scatcherd, senior, was a pompous and stuck-up old ass. People
have such different notions of what is funny. Nobody roared at Mr.
Gibson's funniments more than I did; but he was Leah's papa.

"Let him joke his bellyful;
I'll bear it all for Sally!"

Young Scatcherd wa