“I’m with you,” chimed in the first guardsman, “what say you, Fred?”
“All serene; though I was in a position to vocalise in the teeth of a footpad—‘vacuus canit,’ &c., you know—regularly cleaned out, the last time I quitted those realms of enchantment; but never mind, faint heart never succeeded with lovely woman, eh? Go in and win, that’s about the time of day!”
“Of night, rather,” suggested Beaupeep, critically; then, assuming a severe tone and manner, he continued, “I’ll tell you what it is, you’re a set of very dissipated young men, and gambling is a vice of which all your anxious parents most strongly disapprove!”
“Faith, and if mine should happen to do that same it won’t cost me any overpowering amount of remorse thin; for me father died some years before I came into this wicked world, and my mother was so cut up by the catastrophe that she did not survive him many days,” remarked O’Brien, with drunken gravity.
And having by this time reached the door of the mysterious club in J———— Street, D’Almayne knocked a peculiar knock, and the whole party entered, with the exception of Jack Beaupeep, who, observing that he had to write a private despatch to the Pope, and a confidential note to Abd-el-Kader, before he went to bed, excused himself on the score of his official duties. As he turned to depart, he glanced at Lord Alfred Courtland, who, with flashing eyes and heightened colour, was the first to enter:—“If that poor boy has not fallen into the hands of the Philistines, it’s a pity!” was his mental comment, and he shook his head with the ominous profundity of a second Lord Burleigh.
CHAPTER XLV.—THE OVERTURE TO DON PASQUALE.
No one could justly accuse Mr. Philip Tirrett, son and agent to the well-known Yorkshire horse-breeder, of that prolific vice, idleness—mother of evil—on the night and morning after D’Almayne’s whitebait dinner. So far, indeed, was he from evincing any reprehensible slothfulness in attending to his father’s (and his own) interest, that hastening, the moment he quitted his companions, to his lodgings, he exchanged his evening costume for his every-day habiliments; then lying down, ready dressed as he was, he snatched a couple of hours’ sleep; and, as soon as the first ray of daylight became visible, rose and took his way to a neighbouring livery stable. Arriving there, he roused a sleepy helper, and desired him to saddle the bay mare; which, when his order had been complied with, he mounted; and telling the man to have the tilbury and the chestnut thorough-bred ready by a quarter before eight, rode off. As at that early hour the entrances to Hyde Park were still closed, he followed the windings of Park Lane, until he reached Cumberland Gate, when, giving his mare the rein, he rode at a smart trot down the Bayswater Road, until he reached the turnpike, after passing which he increased the trot to a fast canter. This pace he kept up for about four miles along the Harrow Road; then turning off to the right, he proceeded about a mile farther, until he came to a gate leading across a field, on the opposite side of which were situated a cottage and some farm buildings. Riding into the yard, Tirrett gave a shrill whistle, and immediately a round, bullet-shaped, close-cropped head, was protruded from a stable-door.
“Come and take my mare, Dick; put her in and give her a handful of corn to nibble at. How is the Don?”