Nor was Colonel Tulip silent, but his conversation was of a very lofty and, as it were, ethereal order,--quite transparent, in fact, if any one had been there to analyze it. It related chiefly to the magnates at the Horse Guards,--to what “the Duke” said to him on certain occasions specified,--to Prince Albert’s appearance at the last levee,--to a favorite bay charger of his own, to the probability that Lord Dawdle would get into the corps on the first exchange,--and to a partly-formed intention of applying to the Commander-in-Chief to change the regimental facings from buff to green.
The mess-table, after four hours’ enjoyment of it in this intellectual manner, was finally abandoned for Captain Cushion’s “quarters,” that gallant officer having taken “quite a fancy to the youngster,” not so much, perhaps, on account of the youngster being a Lord’s youngster, as because, in all probability, there was something squeezeable in him, which was slightly indicated in his countenance. But whatever of the kind there might indeed have been, did not come out that evening, the amiable Captain preferring rather to initiate by example and the show of good fellowship, than by directly urging the neophyte to play. The rubber, therefore, was made up without him, and the new Ensign, with two or three more of his rank, confined themselves to cigars and brandy and water, a liberal indulgence in which completed what the wine had begun, and before midnight chimed the Hon. George Spoonbill was--to use the mildest expression,--as unequivocally tipsy as the fondest parent or guardian could possibly have desired a young gentleman to be on the first night of his entering “the Service.”
Not yet established in barracks, Mr. Spoonbill slept at an hotel, and thither he was assisted by two of his boon companions, whom he insisted on regaling on devilled biscuits and more brandy and water, out of sheer gratitude for their kindness. Nor was this reward thrown away, for it raised the spirits of these youths to so genial a pitch that, on their way back--with a view, no doubt, to give encouragement to trade--they twisted off, as they phrased it, “no end to knockers and bell-handles,” broke half a dozen lamps, and narrowly escaping the police (with whom, however, they would gloriously have fought rather than have surrendered) succeeded at length in reaching their quarters,--a little excited it is true, but by no means under the impression that they had done anything--as the articles of war say--“unbecoming the character of an officer and a gentleman.”