The illustrious stranger, too—who, by the way, though still in a black coat, was “got-up” with the utmost splendour of which a hunting costume admits—looked rather surprised, and winked at the two irreverent laughers as they are certainly not in the habit of winking in the House of Peers.
“Is that a favourite one you are riding?” inquired Mr. Sawyer, who fancied he must say something, and could think, at the moment, of no more apposite remark.
“I don’t know much of him,” was the reply. “He’s only a five-year-old; and I haven’t had him a fortnight. A thundering well-bred one, though, and can jump like a deer! I gave a hat-full of money for him, without getting on his back; but we’ll see what he’s made of this afternoon, I hope. I should say, now, that he’d carry you alarming!”
Mr. Sawyer, whose conversational powers were soon exhausted, made no reply, but, more out of civility than curiosity, contented himself with scanning the five-year-old from his ears to his tail.
The illustrious unknown seemed to have no dislike to inspection: on the contrary, he courted further companionship, by producing the gorgeous cigar-case, and offering Mr. Sawyer a weed.
“You will find them pretty good,” said he, striking a light from a little bijou of a briquet that hung to his watch-chain. “I import them myself: it’s the only way to ensure getting them first-rate, and it certainly is the cheapest in the long-run.”
The cigar was indeed excellent. Mr. Sawyer thought this would be a good opportunity to draw his noble friend for a box. He might perhaps make him a present of a couple of pounds or so. At all events (as he said, it was the cheapest plan) there was no harm in risking the chance of having to pay for them. He asked him, accordingly, with some little hesitation, if he could do him the favour of procuring him a few?
“Certainly, certainly,” replied the other, in the most off-hand, good-humoured way possible. “You shall have them from my man. I’ll write to him to-night. How much shall I order? You can’t get anything like them at the money: they only stand us in five guineas a pound!”
Mr. Sawyer modestly opined “one pound would be quite sufficient for the present;” but he felt as if he had just lost a large double tooth. Without being stingy, it was not the custom in the Old Country thus to throw money away. He fell back upon Brush, sucking at the costly tobacco with considerable vehemence.
“Who is he?” said he, nodding towards the rider of the five-year-old, then cantering on ahead, and sitting well down in the saddle, as he prepared to “lark” over a large fence, to the admiration of the field, instead of defiling through the hand-gate.