Lloyd.
What between the field and college, young Puffington made the acquaintance
of several very dashing young sparks--Lord Firebrand, Lord Mudlark, Lord
Deuceace, Sir Harry Blueun, and others, whom he always spoke of as
'Deuceace,' 'Blueun,' etc., in the easy style that marks the perfect
gentleman.[1] How proud the old people were of him! How they would sit
listening to him, flashing, and telling how Deuceace and he floored a
Charley, or Blueun and he pitched a snob out of the boxes into the pit.
This was in the old Tom-and-Jerry days, when fisticuffs were the fashion.
One evening, after he had indulged us with a more than usual dose, and was
leaving the room to dress for an eight o'clock dinner at Long's, 'Buzzer!'
exclaimed the old man, clutching our arm, as the tears started to his eyes,
'Buzzer! that's an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar man!' And certainly, if
a large acquaintance is a criterion of popularity, young Puffington, as he
was then called, had his fair share. He once did us the honour--an honour
we shall never forget--of walking down Bond Street with us, in the
spring-tide of fashion, of a glorious summer's day, when you could not
cross Conduit Street under a lapse of a quarter of an hour, and carriages
seemed to have come to an interminable lock at the Piccadilly end of the
street.
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