“No, I said nothing about it!” muttered the other.
There was now a pause; each only waited for any, the slightest show of concession to make advances to the other; for although without the slightest particle of good feeling on either side, they well knew the force of the adage that enjoins friendship among knaves. My Lord thoroughly appreciated the utility of a Spicer; well did Spicer understand all the value of a peer's acquaintance.
Each ruminated long over the situation; and at last Beecher said, “Did poor Lackington leave you anything in his will?”
“A racing snaffle and two whips, my Lord.”
“Poor fellow, he never forgot any one, I 'm sure,” sighed Beecher.
“He had a wonderful memory, indeed, my Lord; for I had borrowed twenty pounds of him at the Canterbury races some ten years ago, and he said to me, just before he took to bed, 'Never mind the trifle that's between us, Spicer; I shall not take it.'”
“Good-hearted, generous fellow!” muttered Beecher.
Spicer's mouth twitched a little, but he did not speak.
“There never was a better brother, never!” said Beecher, far more intent upon the display of his own affectionate sorrow than in commemorating fraternal virtues. “We never had a word of disagreement in our lives. Poor Lackington! he used to think he was doing the best by me by keeping me so tight, and always threatening to cut me down still lower; he meant it for the best, but you know I could n't live upon it, the thing was impossible. If I had n't been one of the 'wide-awakes,' I 'd have gone to the wall at once; and let me tell you, Master Spicer, it wasn't every fellow would have kept his head over water where I was swimming.”
“That I 'm convinced of,” said Spicer, gravely.