"I cannot go," cried the Lord Protector at last, "it would be too great a sacrifice."
"You said not that," pursued Ireton—for it was he—"when you called upon Charles to lose his head."
"But in this case, good sooth, I would wish a head to be won, or the victory to be by a head;" and then the Uncrowned King laughed long and heartily, as was his wont when some jest tickled him.
"This is no matter for merriment," exclaimed Ireton sternly. "Oliver, you are playing the fool. You are sacrificing for pleasure, business, duty."
"Well, I cannot help it," was the response. "But mind you, Ireton, it shall be the last time."
"What is it that attracts you so strongly? What is the pleasure that lures you away from the path of duty?"
"I will tell you, and then you will pity, perchance forgive me. To-day my horse runs at Epsom. With luck his chance is a certainty. So farewell." Then the two old friends grasped hands and parted. One went to fight on the blood-stained field of battle, and the other to see the race for the Derby.
ON A CLUMSY CRICKETER.
At Timbertoes his Captain rails As one in doleful dumps; Oft given "leg before"—the bails, Not bat before—the stumps. The Genevese Professor Yung Believes the time approaches When man will lose his legs, ill-slung, Through trams, cars, cabs, and coaches; Or that those nether limbs will be The merest of survivals. The thought fills Timbertoes with glee, No more he'll fear his rivals. "Without these bulky, blundering pegs I shall not fail to score, For if a man has got no legs, He can't get 'leg-before.'"