One band of bully beaux, somewhat the
worse for drink already, were telling stories of scandal and
duelling, to which Tom could not but listen with ill-concealed
interest. Others were discussing the last new play, or the last new
toast. A few fine dandies sat combing their periwigs as they talked
of the latest fashions, taking snuff freely, and sprinkling
themselves with perfume from a small pocket flask, if they were
ever too nearly approached by some commoner person.
As time passed by the quieter men, who had come early to read and
talk politics and literature, withdrew themselves and took their
departure. Harry Gay was claimed by a party of dashing-looking
young rakes, who insisted that he should come and play a game of
tic-tac with them in the outer room; and as Tom made no move to
accompany him, he left him in his seat in the corner to look on and
learn all he could.
Tom, indeed, was quite fascinated by the scene around him, and had
no desire to tear himself away. Presently one of the men from the
group of bully beaux (as Tom had dubbed them, not by any means
incorrectly) moved nearer to him, and took the chair vacated by
Harry; and gradually the group reformed, with Tom as one of its
members. The others addressed him, asking his name and his history.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83