ts?"

"Well, I suppose he may; everybody has."

"Ay," said Grog, dryly, and read on.--"'The Continent, however, is
not the cheap place it once was,--rent, servants, markets, all are
dearer,--and I 'm quite satisfied you find Ireland much less expensive
than any other part of Europe,'--which means, 'Stay there,'--eh?"

"No, I don't take it that way," said Beecher, reddening.

"But I do, and I 'll maintain it," reiterated Grog. "He's a knowing one,
that same noble Viscount; he's not the flat you always thought he was.
He can square his own book, he can.--As to any prospect of places, I
tell you, frankly, there is none. These competitive humbugs they call
examinations do certainly stop a number of importunate people, but the
vigilance of Parliament exercises a most overbearing tyranny on the
ministers; and then the press! Now, we might tide over the House,
Annesley, but the press would surely ruin all. If you were gazetted
to-day Consul to the least-known South American republic,--commissioner
for the sale of estates in the planet Saturn,--those fellows would have
a leader on you to-morrow, showing what you did fifteen years ago at
Ascot,--all your outlawries, all your actions in bankruptcy. They 'd
begin saying, 'Is this the notorious Hon. Annesley Beecher? or are we
mistaken in supposing that the gentleman here referred to is the same
lately mentioned in our columns as the friend and associate of the still
more famous Grog Davis?'"

"He's cool, he is, the noble Lord," said Davis, laying down the letter,
while Beecher laughed till his eyes ran over with tears. "Now, I 'd
trouble his Lordship to tell _me_," continued Grog, "which had the worst
of that same acquaintance, and which was more profitable to the other.
If the famous Grog were to split upon the notorious Annes-ley, who 'd
come last out of the bag?"

"You need n't take it so seriously as all that, Grog," said Beecher, in
a placable tone.

"Why, when I'm told that one of the hardest things to be laid to _your_
charge is the knowing _me_, it's high time to be serious, I think; not
but I might just throw a shell into the enemy's own camp. The noble Lord
ain't so safe as he fancies. I was head-waiter at Smykes's,--the old
Cherry-tree, at Richmond--the night Mat Fortescue was ruined. I could
tell the names of the partners even yet, though it's a matter of I won't
say how many years ago; and when poor Fortescue blew his brains out, I
know the man who drove his p