?" says my lord.

"I beg your pardon," said downright Harry, "French is the only language
besides my own of which I know a little."

"My Lord March has learned Italian at the Opera, and a pretty penny
his lessons have cost him," remarked Jack Morris. "We must show him the
Opera--mustn't we, March?"

"Must we, Morris?" said my lord, as if he only half liked the other's
familiarity.

Both of the two gentlemen were dressed alike, in small scratch-wigs
without powder, in blue frocks with plate buttons, in buckskins and
riding-boots, in little hats with a narrow cord of lace, and no outward
mark of fashion.

"I don't care about the Opera much, my lord," says Harry, warming with
his wine; "but I should like to go to Newmarket, and long to see a good
English hunting-field."

"We will show you Newmarket and the hunting-field, sir. Can you ride
pretty well?"

"I think I can," Harry said; "and I can shoot pretty well, and jump
some."

"What's your weight? I bet you we weigh even, or I weigh most. I bet you
Jack Morris beats you at birds or a mark, at five-and-twenty paces. I
bet you I jump farther than you on flat ground, here on this green."

"I don't know Mr. Morris's shooting--I never saw either gentleman
before--but I take your bets, my lord, at what you please," cries Harry,
who by this time was more than warm with Burgundy.

"Ponies on each!" cried my lord.

"Done and done!" cried my lord and Harry together. The young man thought
it was for the honour of his country not to be ashamed of any bet made
to him.

"We can try the last bet now, if your feet are pretty steady," said my
lord, springing up, stretching his arms and limbs, and looking at the
crisp, dry grass. He drew his boots off, then his coat and waistcoat,
buckling his belt round his waist, and flinging his clothes down to the
ground.

Harry had more respect for his garments. It was his best suit. He took
off the velvet coat and waistcoat, folded them up daintily, and, as the
two or three tables round were slopped with drink, went to place the
clothes on a table in the eating-room, of which the windows were open.

Here a new guest had entered; and this was no other than Mr. Wolfe,
who was soberly eating a chicken and salad, with a modest pint of wine.
Harry was in high spirits. He told the Colonel he had a bet with my Lord
March--would Colonel Wolfe stand him halves? The Colonel said he was too
poor to bet. Would he come out and see fair play? Th