But my good Lord Viscount saw the move—“I'll play you for ten moidores, Mohun,” says he. “You silly boy, we don't play for groats here as you do at Cambridge.” And Harry, who had no such sum in his pocket (for his half-year's salary was always pretty well spent before it was due), fell back with rage and vexation in his heart that he had not money enough to stake.
“I'll stake the young gentleman a crown,” says the Lord Mohun's captain.
“I thought crowns were rather scarce with the gentlemen of the army,” says Harry.
“Do they birch at College?” says the Captain.
“They birch fools,” says Harry, “and they cane bullies, and they fling puppies into the water.”
“Faith, then, there's some escapes drowning,” says the Captain, who was an Irishman; and all the gentlemen began to laugh, and made poor Harry only more angry.
My Lord Mohun presently snuffed a candle. It was when the drawers brought in fresh bottles and glasses and were in the room on which my Lord Viscount said—“The Deuce take you, Mohun, how damned awkward you are. Light the candle, you drawer.”
“Damned awkward is a damned awkward expression, my lord,” says the other. “Town gentlemen don't use such words—or ask pardon if they do.”
“I'm a country gentleman,” says my Lord Viscount.
“I see it by your manner,” says my Lord Mohun. “No man shall say damned awkward to me.”