No sooner had Chiffinch taken his morning draught, than he inquired after Lord Saville. “His lordship was mounted and away by peep of dawn,” was Lance’s reply. “What the devil!” exclaimed Chiffinch; “why, this is scarce civil.--What! off for the races with his whole retinue?” “All but one,” replied Lance, “whom his lordship sent back to London with letters.” “To London with letters!” said Chiffinch. “Why, I am for London, and could have saved his express a labour.--But stop--hold--I begin to recollect--d----n, can I have blabbed?--I have--I have--I remember it all now--I have blabbed; and to the very weasel of the Court, who sucks the yelk out of every man’s secret. Furies and fire--that my afternoons should ruin my mornings thus!--I must turn boon companion and good fellow in my cups--and have my confidences and my quarrels--my friends and my enemies, with a plague to me, as if any one could do a man much good or harm but his own self. His messenger must be stopped, though--I will put a spoke in his wheel.--Hark ye, drawer-fellow--call my groom hither--call Tom Beacon.” Lance obeyed; but failed not, when he had introduced the domestic, to remain in the apartment, in order to hear what should pass betwixt him and his master. “Hark ye, Tom,” said Chiffinch, “here are five pieces for you.” “What’s to be done now, I trow?” said Tom, without even the ceremony of returning thanks, which he was probably well aware would not be received even in part payment of the debt he was incurring. “Mount your fleet nag, Tom--ride like the devil--overtake the groom whom Lord Saville despatched to London this morning--lame his horse--break his bones--fill him as drunk as the Baltic sea; or do whatever may best and most effectively stop his journey.--Why does the lout stand there without answering me? Dost understand me?” “Why, ay, Master Chiffinch,” said Tom; “and so I am thinking doth this honest man here, who need not have heard quite so much of your counsel, an it had been your will.” “I am bewitched this morning,” said Chiffinch to himself, “or else the champagne runs in my head still. My brain has become the very lowlands of Holland--a gill-cup would inundate it--Hark thee, fellow,” he added, addressing Lance, “keep my counsel--there is a wager betwixt Lord Saville and me, which of us shall first have a letter in London. Here is to drink my health, and bring luck on my side. Say nothing of it; but help Tom to his nag.--Tom, ere thou startest come for thy credentials--I will give thee a letter to the Duke of Bucks, that may be evidence thou wert first in town.” Tom Beacon ducked and exited; and Lance, after having made some show of helping him to horse, ran back to tell his master the joyful intelligence, that a lucky accident had abated Chiffinch’s party to their own number.