The History of Pendennis | Page 3

his lodgings, according to his custom, to breakfast at a
certain Club in Pall Mall, of which he was a chief ornament. As he was
one of the finest judges of wine in England, and a man of active,
dominating, and inquiring spirit, he had been very properly chosen to
be a member of the Committee of this Club, and indeed was almost the
manager of the institution; and the stewards and waiters bowed before
him as reverentially as to a Duke or a Field-Marshal.
At a quarter past ten the Major invariably made his appearance in the
best blacked boots in all London, with a checked morning cravat that
never was rumpled until dinner time, a buff waistcoat which bore the
crown of his sovereign on the buttons, and linen so spotless that Mr.
Brummel himself asked the name of his laundress, and would probably
have employed her had not misfortunes compelled that great man to fly
the country. Pendennis's coat, his white gloves, his whiskers, his very

cane, were perfect of their kind as specimens of the costume of a
military man en retraite. At a distance, or seeing his back merely, you
would have taken him to be not more than thirty years old: it was only
by a nearer inspection that you saw the factitious nature of his rich
brown hair, and that there were a few crow's-feet round about the
somewhat faded eyes of his handsome mottled face. His nose was of
the Wellington pattern. His hands and wristbands were beautifully long
and white. On the latter he wore handsome gold buttons given to him
by his Royal Highness the Duke of York, and on the others more than
one elegant ring, the chief and largest of them being emblazoned with
the famous arms of Pendennis.
He always took possession of the same table in the same corner of the
room, from which nobody ever now thought of ousting him. One or
two mad wags and wild fellows had in former days, and in freak or
bravado, endeavoured twice or thrice to deprive him of this place; but
there was a quiet dignity in the Major's manner as he took his seat at
the next table, and surveyed the interlopers, which rendered it
impossible for any man to sit and breakfast under his eye; and that
table--by the fire, and yet near the window--became his own. His letters
were laid out there in expectation of his arrival, and many was the
young fellow about town who looked with wonder at the number of
those notes, and at the seals and franks which they bore. If there was
any question about etiquette, society, who was married to whom, of
what age such and such a duke was, Pendennis was the man to whom
every one appealed. Marchionesses used to drive up to the Club, and
leave notes for him, or fetch him out. He was perfectly affable. The
young men liked to walk with him in the Park or down Pall Mall; for he
touched his hat to everybody, and every other man he met was a lord.
The Major sate down at his accustomed table then, and while the
waiters went to bring him his toast and his hot newspaper, he surveyed
his letters through his gold double eye-glass. He carried it so gaily, you
would hardly have known it was spectacles in disguise, and examined
one pretty note after another, and laid them by in order. There were
large solemn dinner cards, suggestive of three courses and heavy
conversation; there were neat little confidential notes, conveying

female entreaties; there was a note on thick official paper from the
Marquis of Steyne, telling him to come to Richmond to a little party at
the Star and Garter, and speak French, which language the Major
possessed very perfectly; and another from the Bishop of Ealing and
Mrs. Trail, requesting the honour of Major Pendennis's company at
Ealing House, all of which letters Pendennis read gracefully, and with
the more satisfaction, because Glowry, the Scotch surgeon,
breakfasting opposite to him, was looking on, and hating him for
having so many invitations, which nobody ever sent to Glowry.
These perused, the Major took out his pocket-book to see on what days
he was disengaged, and which of these many hospitable calls he could
afford to accept or decline.
He threw over Cutler, the East India Director, in Baker Street, in order
to dine with Lord Steyne and the little French party at the Star and
Garter--the Bishop he accepted, because, though the dinner was slow,
he liked to dine with bishops--and so went through his list and disposed
of them according to his fancy or interest. Then he took his breakfast
and looked over the paper, the gazette, the births