“You are very good, sir. What Madeira! Is this the wine the doctors ran down a few years ago? They couldn't have tasted it.”
“Well, it is like ourselves, improved by traveling. That has been twice to India.”
“It will never go again past me,” said Ashmead, gayly. “My mouth is a cape it will never weather.”
He went to his inn.
Before he had been there ten minutes, up rattled a smart servant in a smart dogcart.
“Hamper—for Joseph Ashmead, Esquire.”
“Anything to pay?”
“What for?—it's from Vizard Court.”
And the dog-cart rattled away.
Joseph was in the hall, and witnessed this phenomenon. He said to himself, “I wish I had a vast acquaintance—ALL COUNTRY GENTLEMEN.”