“I should like you to taste my mutton; I never kill it five years old. You don't get that every day.”
Tom, however, was proof against the mutton; but consented to stay till towards the hour when the other guests were expected, finding that his host had a decided objection to be left alone. So after lunch, at which Mr. Wurley drank the better part of a bottle of old sherry to steady his nerves, they returned again to billiards and Hudson's regalias.
They played on for another hour; and, though Mr. Wurley's hand was certainly steadier, the luck remained with Tom. He was now getting rather tired of playing, and wanted to be leaving, and he began to remember the object of his visit again. But Mr. Wurley was nettled at being beaten by a boy, as he counted his opponent, and wouldn't hear of leaving off. So Tom played on carelessly game after game, and was soon again only two games ahead. Mr. Wurley's temper was recovering, and Tom protested that he must go. Just one game more, his host urged, and Tom consented. Wouldn't he play for a sovereign? No. So they played double or quits; and after a sharp struggle Mr. Wurley won the game, at which he was highly elated, and talked again grandly of the odds he could give after dinner.
Tom felt that it was now or never, and so, as he put on his coat, he said,—
“Well, I'm much obliged to you for a very pleasant day, Mr. Wurley.”
“I hope you'll come over again, and stay and sleep. I shall always be glad to see you. It is so cursed hard to keep somebody always going in the country.”
“Thank you; I should like to come again. But now I want to ask a favor of you before I go.”
“Eh, well, what is it?” said Mr. Wurley, whose face and manner became suddenly anything but encouraging.
“There's that cottage of yours, the one at the corner of Englebourn copse, next the village.”
“The woodman's house, I know,” said Mr. Wurley.