We arrived in due course at the “Blue Posts,” and, walking into a private parlour, rang for the waiter. On the appearance of that individual, Fitz-Johnes, with a truly lordly air, ordered in three bottles of port; sagely remarking that he made a point of never drinking less than a bottle himself; and as his friend Hawkesley was known to have laid down the same rule, the third bottle was a necessity unless Lord Tomnoddy was to go without. Lord Tomnoddy faintly protested against the ordering of so much wine; but Fitz-Johnes was firm in his determination, insisting that he should regard it as nothing short of a deliberate insult on Tomnoddy’s part if that individual declined his hospitality.
After a considerable delay the wine and glasses made their appearance, the waiter setting them down, and then pausing respectfully by the table.
“Thank you; that will do. You need not wait,” said Fitz-Johnes.
“The money, if you please, sir,” explained the waiter.
“Oh, ah! yes, to be sure. The money.” And Fitz-Johnes plunged his hand into his breeches pocket and withdrew therefrom the sum of twopence halfpenny, together with half a dozen buttons (assorted); a penknife minus its blades; the bowl of a clay tobacco pipe broken short off; three pieces of pipe-stem evidently originally belonging to the latter; and a small ball of sewing twine.
Carefully arranging the copper coins on the edge of the table he returned the remaining articles to their original place of deposit, and then plunged his hand into his other pocket, from which he produced—nothing.
“How much is it?” he inquired, glancing at the waiter.
“Fifteen shillings, if you please, sir,” was the reply.
“Lend me a sovereign, there’s a good fellow; I’ve left my purse in my other pocket,” he exclaimed to Lord Tomnoddy.
“I would with pleasure, old fellow, if I had it. But, unfortunately, I haven’t a farthing about me.”