‘I am afraid I am not so useful a person as a tradesman. I am only a Cambridge scholar, formerly Lord Hartover’s tutor, who wishes to see him upon urgent private business.’
‘I—I really beg your pardon. Pray sit down, sir,’ quoth the sucking hero, evidently abashed, handing me a chair.
But at that moment a pair of broad shoulders, which had been bent over a card-table at the farther end of the room, turned about with:
‘Hey? Why, Brownlow, by all that’s— Odd trick, Ponsonby—wait one moment.—How are you, my dear fellow? And what on earth brings you here among us warriors?’
And the mighty Rusher rose, like Saul the son of Kish a head and shoulders above his fellows. At first I believe he was really pleased to see me. His handsome face was genial, a light of good-natured and kindly amusement in his eye.
‘Well, how are you?’ he repeated. ‘Do you remember Brocklesby Whins and the brown horse? Come up this winter and you shall ride him again; by Jove, you shall—and take the rascally little grey fox home with you. I’ve got him stuffed and ready, as I promised I would; and wondered why you’d not claimed your property before.’
I was beginning to speak, but he ran on:
‘Brother officers, let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Brownlow, as fine a light-weight across country as you need wish to know, and who saved my pack from destruction at the risk of his own life,—a long and prosperous one may it be!’
‘My hunting days are over, I fear,’ I said, as the men of war stared all the more at the lame young don, black-coated, black-breeched and black-stockinged—thinking, I doubt not, I was a ‘rum ’un to look at’ even if a ‘good ’un to go.’
‘But I beg of you to tell me where I can find Lord Hartover; or, if I cannot see him, to let me have a few words with you.’