“He cured my bitch Daisy of a capped hock,” said another; and then looked as if he wished he hadn’t spoken.
“They are all Jack-puddings to showman Davy,” whispered Miss Angela, looking up at her cavalier with a waggish twinkle.
“Come!” cried the master of “Chatters.” “Who’s for a game? Let’s have ‘Pinch without Laughin’.’”
The squireens boisterously assented; but Miss Royston and the cousin from London cried “No! no!” feeling their little powdered noses in jeopardy. So they played “Hot Cockles,” and “Jack’s Alive,” and “Shadow Buff,” and enjoyed themselves after the light-hearted manner of the period, the problems of which were, indeed, mostly exercised in merriment.
When they settled down at last, flushed and dishevelled, Mr. Tuke looked in the face of a certain lady, with whom he sat in a corner, and was aware of his pulses drumming a little thickly.
“I think I have lived an empty life for long,” he said; “and now I have learned to know myself.”
She twinkled up at him archly.
“Does the knowledge repay the study?” said she.
“Cruel!” he answered. “Ah! if you only guessed my tutor.”
“But I cannot.”