“I tell you, Mr. Spicer,” added Beecher, more passionately still, “if you hadn't known Davis was a thousand miles away, you 'd never have trusted yourself to speak of him in this fashion; but, for your comfort I say it, he 'll be here in a day or two.” “I never said a word of him you 'd not find in the newspapers,” said Spicer, doggedly. “When you come to settle accounts together, it will surprise me very much if there won't be matter for another paragraph in them,” said Beecher, with a sneer. Spicer winced; he tried to arrange his neckcloth, and then to button his glove, but all his efforts could not conceal a tremor that shook him from head to foot. Now, when Beecher got his “man down,” he never thought he could trample enough upon him; and as he walked the room in hasty strides to and fro, he jeeringly pictured to Spicer the pleasures of his next meeting with Davis: not, indeed, but that all his eloquence was superfluous; it needed no descriptive powers to convince any who enjoyed Grog's _friendship_ what his enmity might imply. “I know him as well as _you_ do, my Lord,” said Spicer, as his patience at last gave way; “and I know, besides, there's more than half the Continent where he can't set a foot.” “Perhaps you mentioned that, also, to my sister-in-law,” said Beecher, derisively. “No, I said nothing about it!” muttered the other. There was now a pause; each only waited for any, the slightest show of concession to make advances to the other; for although without the slightest particle of good feeling on either side, they well knew the force of the adage that enjoins friendship among knaves. My Lord thoroughly appreciated the utility of a Spicer; well did Spicer understand all the value of a peer's acquaintance. Each ruminated long over the situation; and at last Beecher said, “Did poor Lackington leave you anything in his will?” “A racing snaffle and two whips, my Lord.” “Poor fellow, he never forgot any one, I 'm sure,” sighed Beecher. “He had a wonderful memory, indeed, my Lord; for I had borrowed twenty pounds of him at the Canterbury races some ten years ago, and he said to me, just before he took to bed, 'Never mind the trifle that's between us, Spicer; I shall not take it.'” “Good-hearted, generous fellow!” muttered Beecher. Spicer's mouth twitched a little, but he did not speak. “There never was a better brother, never!” said Beecher, far more intent upon the display of his own affectionate sorrow than in commemorating fraternal virtues. “We never had a word of disagreement in our lives. Poor Lackington! he used to think he was doing the best by me by keeping me so tight, and always threatening to cut me down still lower; he meant it for the best, but you know I could n't live upon it, the thing was impossible. If I had n't been one of the 'wide-awakes,' I 'd have gone to the wall at once; and let me tell you, Master Spicer, it wasn't every fellow would have kept his head over water where I was swimming.”