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Chapter 3. The Cherokees mark their man. Her Majesty's Theatre is brilliant this evening.

Diamonds and beauty and tear above tear look out from the amber-curtained boxes. The stalls

are full, and the pit is crammed. In Fops' Alley, there is scarcely standing room. Indeed

one gentleman remarks to another that if pandemonium is equally hot and crowded, he will turn Methodist

person in his old age and give his mind to drinking tea meetings. The gentleman who

makes this remark is neither more nor less than a distinguished member of the cheerfills.

The domino player alluded to some chapters back. He is standing, talking to Richard, and

to see him now, with an opera glass in his hand. His hair, worn in a manner, can forming

with the usages of society, and only in a modified degree suggesting that celebrated hero

of the Newgate calendar and modern romance. Mr. John Sheppard, address coat, patent leather

boots, and the regulation white waistcoat, you would think he had never been tipsy or

right as in his life. This gentleman is Mr. Percy Cordoner. All the

Cherokees are more or less literary, and all the Cherokees have more or less admission

to every place of entertainment, from her majesty's theater to the meetings of the members

of the PR. But what brings Richard to the opera tonight? And who is that not very musical-looking

little gentleman at his elbow? Will they all be here, as Dick of Mr. Cordoner? Every

...