"Well, sir?" inquired Barnabas, still busily trimming his quill.
Mr. Smivvle frowned; but finding Barnabas was quite unconscious of it, shook his head, felt for his whisker again, found it, tugged it, and laughed jovially.
"Sir," said he, "you are a devilish sharp fellow, and a fine fellow. I swear you are. I like your spirit, on my soul and honor I do, and, as for blots, I vow to you I never write a letter myself that I don't smear most damnably—curse me if I don't. That blot, sir, shall be another bond between us, for I have conceived a great regard for you. The astounding likeness between you and one who—was snatched away in the flower of his youth—draws me, sir, draws me most damnably; for I have a heart, sir, a heart—why should I disguise it?" Here Mr. Smivvle tapped the third left-hand button of his coat. "And so long as that organ continues its functions, you may count Digby Smivvle your friend, and at his little place in Worcestershire he will be proud to show you the hospitality of a Smivvle. Meanwhile, sir, seeing we are both strangers in a strange place, supposing we—join forces and, if you are up for the race, I propose—"
"The race!" exclaimed Barnabas, looking up suddenly.
"Yes, sir, devilish swell affair, with gentlemen to ride, and Royalty to look on—a race of races! London's agog with it, all the clubs discuss it, coffee houses ring with it, inns and taverns clamor with it—soul and honor, betting—everywhere. The odds slightly favor Sir Mortimer Carnaby's 'Clasher'; but Viscount Devenham's 'Moonraker' is well up. Then there's Captain Slingsby's 'Rascal,' Mr. Tressider's 'Pilot,' Lord Jerningham's 'Clinker,' and five or six others. But, as I tell you, 'Clasher' and 'Moonraker' carry the money, though many knowing ones are sweet on the 'Rascal.' But, surely, you must have heard of the great steeplechase? Devilish ugly course, they tell me."
"The Viscount spoke of it, I remember," said Barnabas, absently.
"Viscount, sir—not—Viscount Devenham?"
"Yes."
Here Mr. Smivvle whistled softly, took off the curly-brimmed hat, looked at it, and put it on again at a more rakish angle than ever.
"Didn't happen to mention my name, did he—Smivvle, sir?"