"He tells me too," said the Doctor, "that those young fellows at Fern Vale have behaved scurvily to him, that one of them has tried to cut him out, and striven hard to set the girl against him. Now I would propose that Smithers give a spree at Brompton, and get his brother to invite the guests for him; then he would be able to have his girl and her friends there, and these young Fergusons too. We could have some glorious fun, get up some races or something of that sort, to please the women and amuse ourselves; besides, it would answer the purpose of showing off his girl and introducing her to his friends, at the same time that it would annoy his rival. And for the matter of that we might oblige him by picking a quarrel with young Ferguson, and giving the fellow a good drubbing, just for the satisfaction of the thing. Eh, gad! Bob must promise to give us a spree, or we won't let him out of this house. It is not often one of our fellows gets spliced; and we can't lose one without a jollification. You had better promise at once, Bob."
"Well, for my part," replied Bob, "I would give you a spree in a minute, but how am I to get it up? I would not know who to ask; and, besides, no one would come to my invitation except such fellows as you, who would drink all day, or until you had drained the house dry of liquor."
"Get your brother to do it," replied the Doctor, "and work round to the blind side of his wife. I'll be bound she's woman enough to join in it heartily; the mere prospect of the thing will be sufficient inducement to make her fall into your views; and depend upon it she will not only undertake the whole affair, but get together a good company for you."
"But there is another thing," urged Bob, "if we are to invite fifty or a hundred people to our place we will have to find quarters for most of them, and how shall we manage that?"
"Nothing easier in the world," replied the contumacious Doctor; "give up all your spare room to the women folks, and we fellows can shake down anywhere, camp under a tree if you like; or those that don't like that, let them take the wool-shed."
"Well, I'll see if the thing can be managed," replied Bob, "and let you know in good time."
CHAPTER XII.
"Yes! loath indeed: my soul is nerved to all,