“Well, come and dine with me at Herrick's to-morrow, and decide for yourself.”
“Why not try the Condor with me?” said I.
“Another day, with all my heart; but I have a friend to-morrow, so come and meet him at six o'clock.”
I agreed; and then we chatted on about London and town folks in a way that, even with all I had drunk, amazed me for the cool impudence in which I indulged.
“You knew De Courcy, of course,” said he, after a long run of mutual friends had been disposed of.
“Jack?” cried I,—“Jack De Courcy, of the Cold-streams,—yes, I think I did. Jack and I were like brothers. The last steeplechase I rode in Ireland was for poor Jack De Courcy: a little chestnut mare with a good deal of the Arab about her.”
“I remember her well,—an active devil, but she could n't go for more than half a mile.”
“Well, I managed to screw a race out of her.”
“You must tell me all about that to-morrow; for I find my unfortunate head is like a bell with the vibration of the last stroke of the hammer on it. Don't forget,—to-morrow, sharp six. You 'll meet nobody but Broughton.”
“Dudley,—Sir Dudley Broughton?”