“I say, M’Whirter, is it a semiplena? Hand it over to Randolph; he has lots of experience in that line.”
“Get out, you heretical humbug! Never mind these fellows, George. Tip, and I’m your man,” said Randolph.
“Can any body tell me who is pleading before the Second Division just now?” asked a youth, looking rather white in the gills.
“Old Windlass. He’s good for three quarters of an hour at least, and then the judges have to give their opinions.”
“I’m devilish glad to hear it. I think I shall bolt.”
“Haven’t you got that case over yet, Prior?”
“No, nor sha’n’t for a week. A confounded count and reckoning, with columns of figures as long as Anthony. Well, Scripio, how are stocks?”
“Rather shakey. What do you say to a shot at the Northerns?”
“O, hang Northerns! I burned my fingers with them a month ago,” replied Randolph. “This seems a fine afternoon. Who’s for Musselburgh?”
“I can’t go to-day,” said Whaup. “I was tempted yesterday with a shilling, and sold myself.”