"The twenty-first, my lord."
"The twenty-first!" exclaimed his lordship finishing his coffee.—"Wednesday, I declare!—and Sunday is Christmas-day! If I go at all, I must go on Saturday at latest."
"My lord?"
"I must go to Dover, Friday or Saturday."
"Oh! on your way to the Continent? I think it would be advisable, my lord."
"The Continent! no:—why advisable?"
"Why, my lord; may I speak?" inquired Faddle, as he removed breakfast.
"Certainly: what have you to say?"
"Why, the tradespeople, my lord:—just at Christmas-time the bills do fall in like a shower of paper-snow in a stage-play."
"Oh! and you think I must get out of the way, and let the storm blow over, eh?"