AN UNPRINCELY JEST
The Prince of Wales was in hilarious mood. And with reason too.
At his Brighton Pavilion he had enjoyed full many a carouse with convivial spirits, and this was to be the merriest of all.
Clarence and York were there, besides many another well-known figure which haunted Carlton House,—good drinkers, good gamblers, good comrades all; boon and fitting companions for such a master.
What bursts of merriment went up from the throng gathered around the royal chair!
Florizel had an idea, and the throats of laughing satellites were hoarse with crying: "Excellent!" "Excellent!"
"He'll dine and sleep with us here, at the Pavilion," chuckled the Prince. "A wager that he'll sleep sound."
As he spoke a grand equipage was driving into the courtyard—that gilded coach and famous team of greys were long remembered in Sussex—and from the coach descended an old, grey-headed man. It was His Grace the great Duke of Norfolk, known to his friends as "Jockey of Norfolk," who had driven over from his castle of Arundel at the Prince's invitation.
They had been friends and then quarrelled, as most of the Whigs quarrelled with George, and this visit was to proclaim a kind of reconciliation between them.
Thus the old noble entered the Pavilion and was greeted uproariously by an uproarious host.