My uncle laughed, and Brummell looked me up and down with his large, intolerant eyes.

“These will do very passably,” said he.  “Buff and blue are always very gentlemanlike.  But a sprigged waistcoat would have been better.”

“I think not,” said my uncle, warmly.

“My dear Tregellis, you are infallible upon a cravat, but you must allow me the right of my own judgment upon vests.  I like it vastly as it stands, but a touch of red sprig would give it the finish that it needs.”

They argued with many examples and analogies for a good ten minutes, revolving round me at the same time with their heads on one side and their glasses to their eyes.  It was a relief to me when they at last agreed upon a compromise.

“You must not let anything I have said shake your faith in Sir Charles’s judgment, Mr. Stone,” said Brummell, very earnestly.

I assured him that I should not.

“If you were my nephew, I should expect you to follow my taste.  But you will cut a very good figure as it is.  I had a young cousin who came up to town last year with a recommendation to my care.  But he would take no advice.  At the end of the second week I met him coming down St. James’s Street in a snuff-coloured coat cut by a country tailor.  He bowed to me.  Of course I knew what was due to myself.  I looked all round him, and there was an end to his career in town.  You are from the country, Mr. Stone?”

“From Sussex, sir.”

“Sussex!  Why, that is where I send my washing to.  There is an excellent clear-starcher living near Hayward’s Heath.  I send my shirts two at a time, for if you send more it excites the woman and diverts her attention.  I cannot abide anything but country washing.  But I should be vastly sorry to have to live there.  What can a man find to do?”

“You don’t hunt, George?”

“When I do, it’s a woman.  But surely you don’t go to hounds, Charles?”

“I was out with the Belvoir last winter.”

“The Belvoir!  Did you hear how I smoked Rutland?  The story has been in the clubs this month past.  I bet him that my bag would weigh more than his.  He got three and a half brace, but I shot his liver-coloured pointer, so he had to pay.  But as to hunting, what amusement can there be in flying about among a crowd of greasy, galloping farmers?  Every man to his own taste, but Brookes’s window by day and a snug corner of the macao table at Watier’s by night, give me all I want for mind and body.  You heard how I plucked Montague the brewer!”

“I have been out of town.”

“I had eight thousand from him at a sitting.  ’I shall drink your beer in future, Mr. Brewer,’ said I.  ’Every blackguard in London does,’ said he.  It was monstrous impolite of him, but some people cannot lose with grace.  Well, I am going down to Clarges Street to pay Jew King a little of my interest.  Are you bound that way?  Well, good-bye, then!  I’ll see you and your young friend at the club or in the Mall, no doubt,” and he sauntered off upon his way.