arising, his honour turns his horses'
heads down St. James's Street, and is back at White's at about three
o'clock. Scarce anybody has come in yet. It is the hour when folks are
at dinner. There, however, is my cousin Castlewood, lounging over the
Public Advertiser, having just come off from his duty at Court hard by.

Lord Castlewood is yawning over the Public Advertiser. What shall they
do? Shall they have a little piquet? Harry has no objections to a little
piquet. "Just for an hour," says Lord Castlewood. "I dine at Arlington
Street at four." "Just for an hour," says Mr. Warrington; and they call
for cards.

"Or shall we have 'em in upstairs?" says my lord. "Out of the noise?"

"Certainly, out of the noise," says Harry.

At five o'clock a half-dozen of gentlemen have come in after their
dinner, and are at cards, or coffee, or talk. The folks from the
ordinary have not left the table yet. There the gentlemen of White's
will often sit till past midnight.

One toothpick points over the coffee-house blinds into the street.
"Whose phaeton?" asks Toothpick 1 of Toothpick 2.

"The Fortunate Youth's," says No. 2.

"Not so fortunate the last three nights. Luck confoundedly against him.
Lost, last night, thirteen hundred to the table. Mr. Warrington been
here to-day, John?"

"Mr. Warrington is in the house now, sir. In the little tea-room with
Lord Castlewood since three o'clock. They are playing at piquet," says
John.

"What fun for Castlewood!" says No. 1, with a shrug.

The second gentleman growls out an execration. "Curse the fellow!" he
says. "He has no right to be in this club at all. He doesn't pay if he
loses. Gentlemen ought not to play with him. Sir Miles Warrington told
me at court the other day, that Castlewood has owed him money on a bet
these three years."

"Castlewood," says No. 1, "don't lose if he plays alone. A large company
flurries him, you see--that's why he doesn't come to the table." And the
facetious gentleman grins, and shows all his teeth, polished perfectly
clean.

"Let's go up and stop 'em," growls No. 2.

"Why?" asks the other. "Much better look out a-window. Lamplighter going
up the ladder--famous sport. Look at that old putt in the chair: did you
ever see such an old quiz?"

"Who is that just gone out of the house? As I live, it's Fortunatus! He
seems to have forgotten that his phaeton has been here, waiting all the
time. I bet you two to one he has been losing to Castlewood."