“I think I can get it, Colonel. I 'll try and obtain it for you.”
“Was it Moorcroft?” cried one.
“Or Massingbred?” asked another.
“I'll wager a sovereign it was Dudgeon; wasn't it Dudgeon?”
But no; it was none of the three. Still, the suggestions opened a whole chapter of biographical details, in which each of these worthies vied with the other. No man ever listened to the various anecdotes narrated with a more eager interest than Sewell. Now and then, indeed, a slight incredulity—a sort of puzzled astonishment that the world could be so very wicked, that there really were such fellows—would seem to distract him; but he listened on, and even occasionally asked an explanation of this or of that, to show the extreme attention he vouchsafed to the theme.
To be sure, their attempts to describe the way some trick was played with the cards or the dice, how the horse was “nobbled” or the match “squared,” were neither very remarkable for accuracy nor clearness. They had not been well “briefed,” as lawyers say, or they had not mastered their instructions. Sewell, however, was no captious critic; he took what he got, and was thankful.
When they arose from the table, the old Major, dropping behind the line of those who lounged into the adjoining room, caught a young officer by the arm, and whispered some few words in his ear.
“What a scrape I 'm in!” cried the young fellow as he listened.
“I think not, this time; but let it be a caution to you how you talk of rumors in presence of men who are strangers to you.”
“I say, Major,” asked a young captain, coming up hurriedly, “isn't that Sewell the man of the Agra affair?”