“There is only one thing I regret,” cried Ned, with his mouth full, “about the old lord,—it was a thousand pities we did not make him dance! I remember the day, Captain, when you would have insisted on it. What a merry fellow you were once! Do you recollect, one bright moonlight night, just like the present, for instance, when we were doing duty near Staines, how you swore every person we stopped, above fifty years old, should dance a minuet with you?”
“Ay!” added Augustus, “and the first was a bishop in a white wig. Faith, how stiffly his lordship jigged it! And how gravely Lovett bowed to him, with his hat off, when it was all over, and returned him his watch and ten guineas,—it was worth the sacrifice!”
“And the next was an old maid of quality,” said Ned, “as lean as a lawyer. Don't you remember how she curvetted?”
“To be sure,” said Tomlinson; “and you very wittily called her a hop-pole!”
“How delighted she was with the captain's suavity! When he gave her back her earrings and aigrette, she bade him with a tender sigh keep them for her sake,—ha! ha!”
“And the third was a beau!” cried Augustus; “and Lovett surrendered his right of partnership to me. Do you recollect how I danced his beauship into the ditch? Ah! we were mad fellows then; but we get sated—blases, as the French say—as we grow older!”
“We look only to the main chance now,” said Ned. “Avarice supersedes enterprise,” added the sententious Augustus.
“And our captain takes to wine with an h after the w!” continued the metaphorical Ned.
“Come, we are melancholy,” said Tomlinson, tossing off a bumper. “Methinks we are really growing old, we shall repent soon, and the next step will be-hanging!”
“'Fore Gad!” said Ned, helping himself, “don't be so croaking. There are two classes of maligned gentry, who should always be particular to avoid certain colours in dressing; I hate to see a true boy in black, or a devil in blue. But here's my last glass to-night! I am confoundedly sleepy, and we rise early to-morrow.”