holidays.”

[Pg 73]

“’Pon my word,” said Hodmadod, “I think I shall take a cottage here, and enter myself for the stakes. When I say myself, of course I mean my bees, because I couldn’t very well go into a lily,—eh?”

“Not in boots,” said Basil with a knowing clench.

Here Topps winding his way round the company, with importance in his looks, made up to his master. “This way,” cried Carraways, giving his arm to Mrs. Jericho. “I think I know where we can light upon the merry-thought of a chicken.”

In a very few minutes, the host was seated at the head of the table under a long, wide tent. On the table were the most delicious proofs of the earth’s goodness; with every kitchen mystery. And these vanished and were replaced, and guests came and went, and came and went; and so the hours flew, eating, drinking, laughing and dancing by; until the stars came out, and the music played more noisily, and the merriment grew louder and louder.

Some twenty or thirty were seated together. Mr. Jericho, taciturn and dignified, graced the board. Candituft sat next him; and with others, among whom were Commissioner Thrush, and the miserly Colonel Bones, clubbed their share of mirth. An elderly gentleman, pock-marked, with a pink nose, had been particularly silent; admiring, when and where required, with soberest discretion. And now, for the past half hour, he had been seized with a passion to drink everybody’s health. This vinous philanthropist was Doctor Mizzlemist of Doctors’ Commons. He had at last discovered the great duty of life; and was resolved to perform it. For the third time, he rose to give “the health of Solomon Jericho, Esquire; an honour to his country.” For the third time, the Doctor dwelt upon the hidden virtues of his excellent toast, emphasizing them with a dessert fork, which never failed in its downward descent to make three marks upon the table. Finally wrought into enthusiasm by a contemplation of his subject, Doctor[Pg 74] Mizzlemist delivered himself with such energy, that at the same time he struck the fork between the bones of Jericho’s right hand, pinning it where it lay. The planted weapon trembled in the mahogany. Mr. Jericho’s head was at the moment turned aside. A shout from the company proclaimed some calamity. Mr. Jericho slowly turning, saw the fork still quivering in his flesh. He calmly withdrew the weapon from the wood, laid it down, passed his palm over his bloodless hand, and with a smile said—“It’s nothing.”

[Pg 74]

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