were to be crossed, which I saw his Lordship accomplish with ease, and rode at myself in perfect confidence. Apple-Jack did it beautifully. Alas! he landed in a covered drain (I believe the only one in the country), and I remember nothing more, except a confused sensation of jolting in a post-chaise, till I felt the doctor’s finger on my pulse, as I lay on my back in my own bed at the Haycock. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II TIPS, THE HORSE-BREAKER “IT’S a long business, a broken collar-bone,” I observed to Miss Lushington, as I sipped my tea comfortably in the arm-chair she had vacated for my use. “I am only thankful to be in such good quarters, and—and—in such pleasant company,” I added, with a little hesitation. Miss Lushington smiled, showing all her white teeth, and shooting glances of consolation out of her bright eyes. “You must keep up your spirits, sir,” said she (she pronounced it _sperits_). “Patience and water-gruel is a cure for most diseases, and a broken collar-bone is less painful than a broken heart, and easier cured than a broken neck!” An observation like the above, involving the two fertile topics of physical and mental suffering, was an opening to further confidences, of which I should, doubtless, have availed myself, had our _tête-à-tête_ not been interrupted at this interesting juncture by the arrival of two fresh customers, one of whom walked into the bar with the air of an _habitué_ of the place, whilst his companion, evidently about to be treated to “something to drink,” followed in a more diffident manner, and entered the snuggery, as it were, under protest. “What shall it be, Tips?” said a cheery voice, in the loud, frank tones of a man who “stands treat,” but of which I could not see the owner, on account of a wooden screen interposing between his person and the corner where I sat. “What shall it be? Glass of sherry and bitters? Warm ale, with a stick in it? Brandy-and-water hot? Name the article, and Miss L. will measure it off for you, without a moment’s delay.” “I’ll take a little gin-and-water, Mr. Naggett,” replied Tips, in a low hoarse voice. “Cold, if you please, Miss,” he added, with the utmost deference, as he drew the back of his hand across his mouth, in anticipation of his favourite beverage; to my mind the most comfortless of all potations. Whilst Miss Lushington, like a Hebe in maturity, was supplying the nectar, I had an opportunity of studying the exterior of Mr. Tips, the horse-breaker, a public functionary of whom I could not have been long in the neighbourhood without hearing, but whom I had as yet had no opportunity of meeting, so to speak, in private life.