“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 phaeton into town and said, 'Fortescue never had a hand light enough for these chestnuts. I always knew what I could do with them if they were my own.'” “Lackington never said that. I 'll take my oath of it he never did!” cried Beecher, passionately. “Take your oath of it!” said Davis, with an insulting sneer. “Do you mind the day old Justice Blanchard--it was at the York assizes--said, 'Have a care, Mr. Beecher, what you are about to swear; if you persist in affirming that document, the consequences may be more serious than you apprehend?' And do you remember you did n't swear?” “I 'll tell you what, Master Grog,” said Beecher, over whose face a sudden paleness now spread, “you may speak of _me_ just as you like. You and I have been companions and pals for many a day; but Lackington is the head of my family, he has his seat in the Peers, he can hold up his head with the best in England, and I 'll not sit here to listen to anything against him.” “You won't, won't you?” said Grog, placing a hand on either knee, and fixing his fiery gray eyes on the other's face. “Well, then, I 'll tell you that you _shall!_ Sit down, sir,--sit down, I say, and don't budge from that chair till I tell you! Do you see that hand? and that arm,--grasp it, squeeze it,--does n't feel very like the sinews of a fellow that feared hard labor. I was the best ten stone seven man in England the year I fought Black Joe, and I 'm as tough this minute, so that Norfolk Island needn't frighten me; but the Hon. Annesley Beecher would n't like it, I 'll promise him. He 'd have precious pains in the shoulder-blades, and very sore feelings about the small of the back, after the first day's stone-breaking. Now, don't provoke me, that's all. When the world has gone so bad with a man as it has with _me_ the last year or two, it's not safe to provoke him,--it is not.” “I never meant to anger you, old fellow,” began Annesley.