Vanity Fair - Page 136/573

There are gentlemen of very good blood and fashion in this city, who

never have entered a lady's drawing-room; so that though Rawdon

Crawley's marriage might be talked about in his county, where, of

course, Mrs. Bute had spread the news, in London it was doubted, or not

heeded, or not talked about at all. He lived comfortably on credit.

He had a large capital of debts, which laid out judiciously, will carry

a man along for many years, and on which certain men about town

contrive to live a hundred times better than even men with ready money

can do. Indeed who is there that walks London streets, but can point

out a half-dozen of men riding by him splendidly, while he is on foot,

courted by fashion, bowed into their carriages by tradesmen, denying

themselves nothing, and living on who knows what? We see Jack

Thriftless prancing in the park, or darting in his brougham down Pall

Mall: we eat his dinners served on his miraculous plate. "How did this

begin," we say, "or where will it end?" "My dear fellow," I heard Jack

once say, "I owe money in every capital in Europe." The end must come

some day, but in the meantime Jack thrives as much as ever; people are

glad enough to shake him by the hand, ignore the little dark stories

that are whispered every now and then against him, and pronounce him a

good-natured, jovial, reckless fellow.

Truth obliges us to confess that Rebecca had married a gentleman of

this order. Everything was plentiful in his house but ready money, of

which their menage pretty early felt the want; and reading the Gazette

one day, and coming upon the announcement of "Lieutenant G. Osborne to

be Captain by purchase, vice Smith, who exchanges," Rawdon uttered that

sentiment regarding Amelia's lover, which ended in the visit to Russell

Square.

When Rawdon and his wife wished to communicate with Captain Dobbin at

the sale, and to know particulars of the catastrophe which had befallen

Rebecca's old acquaintances, the Captain had vanished; and such

information as they got was from a stray porter or broker at the

auction.

"Look at them with their hooked beaks," Becky said, getting into the

buggy, her picture under her arm, in great glee. "They're like

vultures after a battle."

"Don't know. Never was in action, my dear. Ask Martingale; he was in

Spain, aide-de-camp to General Blazes."

"He was a very kind old man, Mr. Sedley," Rebecca said; "I'm really

sorry he's gone wrong."

"O stockbrokers--bankrupts--used to it, you know," Rawdon replied,

cutting a fly off the horse's ear.

"I wish we could have afforded some of the plate, Rawdon," the wife

continued sentimentally. "Five-and-twenty guineas was monstrously dear

for that little piano. We chose it at Broadwood's for Amelia, when she

came from school. It only cost five-and-thirty then."