as ever; and besides ourselves there was Whipcord with the
straw in his mouth, and one or two other fellows belonging to our host's
particular set. The supper was quite as elaborate and a good deal more
noisy than that at Doubleday's. I sat next to Flanagan, and hoped to be
able to get some talk with him about old days; but I found he was far
too much taken up with the fun that was going on to be a very attentive
listener. And so I felt more than ever extinguished and out of it, and
all my fond hopes of making an impression on my old schoolfellow
speedily vanished.

"What are you going to do?" said Whipcord, when the meal was over.

"I don't care," said Daly; "cards if you like."

"Oh, bother cards," was the reply; "let's have a ramble out of doors for
a change."

"Hullo! Whip, how is it you're down on cards?" said the Field-Marshal.
"I thought you always won."

There was something not very nice in the tone of the cadaverous man of
war which roused the ire of the virtuous Whipcord.

"What do you mean, you--who says I always win at cards?"

"You generally win when I'm playing against you," said the Field-
Marshal.

"Look here," said Whipcord, very red in the face, and chewing his straw
in an agitated manner, "do you mean to insinuate I cheat at cards, eh,
you--?"

"I never said anything of the kind," replied the Field-marshal; "I said
you generally won, that's all. What's the use of making an ass of
yourself?"

I began to perceive by this time that Mr Whipcord was excited by
something more than the Field-Marshal's talk. The fact was, he had
drunk too much, and that being so, it was worse than useless to reason
with him.

"Who says I generally win at cards?" shouted he. "I'll fight any one
that says so: if you like, I'll take the lot of you."

The laugh which greeted this valiant challenge only enraged the excited
youth the more.

He broke out into language which seemed to be only too ready to his
lips, and again shouted, "I'll teach you to call me a cheat, I will!
I'll teach you to call me a blackleg, so I will! I'll teach you to call
me--"

"A howling jackass," put in the Field-Marshal, whose chief vocation it
seemed to be to goad on his irate guest.

"Yes, I'll teach you to call me a howling jackass!" cried Whipcord,
turning short round on me, and catching me by the throat.

"Me! I never called you a howling jackass!" cried I, in astonishment
and alarm.

"Yes, you did, you young liar;