“How early may I call on your Lordship, and take you to see Don Pasquale?”
“Eh? early did you say?—do you mean really and positively early, or early for London? I seldom breakfast before eleven,” was the “about-townish” reply.
“I did mean really early,” rejoined Tirrett. “Don Pasquale is at a stable a little way out of town, where I would advise your Lordship to keep him quiet till after the race; and, as there is no good in letting too many people into the secret of his whereabouts, I was going to propose to meet you at Hyde Park Corner, at eight o’clock to-morrow morning, and drive you down; in which case you might be in town again by your usual breakfast hour, and no one any the wiser for our expedition.”
“Yes—you know best, of course; but really it’s an alarming sacrifice of ‘nature’s sweet restorer;’ still I’m game for the exertion—a—eight o’clock did you say? ’Gad, I’d better book it, for my memory is not my strong point,” and as he spoke Lord Alfred produced a knowing little betting-book, which he considered it the correct thing to carry, and, in the portion thereof, dedicated to memoranda, entered “Mr. Tirrett, H. P. C., 8 a.m.;” then, replacing it in his pocket, joined a group, in the centre whereof Jack Beaupeep was spinning a dessert-plate on the point of his forefinger, and performing various feats of legerdemain. The drag being reported in readiness, this facetious young gentleman was obliged summarily to discontinue his performance, or, as he expressed it, “shut up shop, in consequence of the early closing movement;” and, after an agreeable moonlight drive, they reached town without adventure about eleven o’clock.
“D’Almayne, my boy, what are we to do with ourselves?” inquired the punning guardsman; “I’m open to anything—except, of course, going quietly to bed.”
“Sure and can’t we get into a row anywhere, now?—is there any gentleman’s head handy that we could punch for a little harmless divarsion?” asked O’Brien.
“What do you say to kidnapping a policeman, charter a cab, convey him to a gin-palace in some obscure locality, fill him blind drunk, shave off his whiskers, blacken his face, and then deposit him at the door of the nearest station-house, to be punished for insobriety, riotous conduct, and neglect of duty?” suggested Beaupeep, with the air of a philanthropist proposing some plan for the benefit of his species.
“Sure, an’ its a great idea intirely, and a thing that should be done forthwith,” observed O’Brien, meditatively and approvingly.
“You can, of course, please yourselves, gentlemen,” replied D’Almayne; “but such valorous achievements are scarcely in my line, or in that of my friend Lord Courtland; n’est-ce pas, Alfred, mon cher?”
“Yes, decidedly. I was going to propose that we should look in at J———— Street for an hour or so, and then go quietly to bed—I don’t want to be late to-night.”