a clean thousand
to let him take half the wager. But these are old stories now, and they
only bore you; in fact, it was just to show you that every man has his
turn--"

"I own frankly," broke in Heathcote, "I am far too full of selfish cares
to take a proper interest in your story. Just tell me if these figures
are correct?" And he turned to look out for a particular page in a
small book.

"Confound figures! I wish they never were invented. If one only
thinks of all the hearty fellows they 've set by the ears, the close
friendships they have severed, the strong attachments they have broken,
I declare one would be justified in saying it was the devil himself
invented arithmetic."

"I wish he 'd have made it easier when he was about it," said Heathcote.

"Excellent, by Jove!--how good I 'Made it easier'--capital!" cried
O'Shea, laughing with a boisterous jollity that made the room ring. "I
hope I 'll not forget that. I must book that _mot_ of yours."

Heathcote grew crimson with shame, and, in an angry impulse, pitched his
cigar into the fire.

"That's right," broke in O'Shea; "these are far better smoking than your
cheroots; these are Hudson's 'Grand Viziers,' made especially for Abba
Pasha's own smoking."

Heathcote declined coldly, and continued his search through his
note-book.

"It was odd enough," said O'Shea, "just as you came in I was balancing
in my own mind whether I 'd go over to the Villa, or write to you."

"Write to me!" said the other, reddening.

"Don't be scared; it was not to dun you. No; I was meditating whether
it was quite fair of me to take that trap and the nags. _You_ like that
sort of thing; it suits you too. Now, I 'm sobering down into the period
of Park phaetons and George the Fourths: a low step to get in, and a
deep, well-cushioned seat, with plenty of leg room; that's more my
style. As Holditch says, 'The O'Shea wants an armchair upon C springs
and Collinge's patent' Free and easy that, from a rascally coachmaker,
eh?"

"I don't want the horses. I have no use for them. I 'm not quite clear
whether you valued the whole thing at two hundred and fifty or three
hundred and fifty?"

"We said, two fifty," replied O'Shea, in his silkiest of tones.

"Be it so," muttered Heathcote; "I gave two hundred for the chestnut
horse at Tattersall's."

"He was dear,--too dear," was the dry reply.

"Esterhazy called him the best horse he ever bred."

"He shall have him this morning for a h