“Who are you? What do you want here? What do you mean by smoking your filthy pipes in this place? Have the goodness to walk out directly.” To this speech one of the men calmly replied, “We have as much right here, sir, as you have, and perhaps more; for I guess you are only one of the upper servants, and we are sheriffs’ officers.” “Sheriffs’ devils!” foamed forth the old gentleman; “and who sent you here, I pray? I will have no sheriffs’ officers here, I can tell you.” This language was not respectful to the men of office, and therefore it was more sharply taken up by the speaker, who, laying aside his composure, very loudly answered: “Come, old fellow, let us have none of your insolence, or I shall soon let you know who is master.” Furiously again Mr. Martindale was beginning to reply, by repeating the word “Master! master! master!” when the noise brought the butler to the scene of contention. This butler was more properly a spy over the actions of the Hon. Philip Martindale than a servant of his: he was the immediate pensioner of the old gentleman; but he was also somewhat attached to his nominal master, and he therefore acted the part of a traitor rather treacherously. He knew, but had not communicated to Mr. Martindale, the intention of the young gentleman to make a journey to London, and he knew also the business on which he had gone; and he had also, on previous occasions, known more than he had thought fit to communicate to his employer. When this trusty domestic made his appearance, Mr. Martindale addressed him very impetuously: “Oliver! what does all this mean? Here are two insolent dirty fellows calling themselves sheriffs’ officers, and strutting about as if the house was their own. Where do they come from? What do they want here? And pray, where is your master? I must insist upon knowing the meaning of all this.” Mr. Oliver looked foolish and confused, and while he was beating his brains for a plausible lie, one of the officers began to save him all further trouble of invention by saying: “Why, if you must know the meaning of all this, I will tell you. The Hon. Philip Martindale is--” “Is gone out shooting,” interrupted the trusty Oliver: “he went out early this morning, sir.” “Shooting with a long bow,” muttered the officer. “Shooting at this time of year, you rascal!” exclaimed Mr. Martindale: “why, you puppy, this is only the beginning of August.” “I don’t mean shooting game, sir, but shooting with bow and arrow. He--he--is gone to--an archery meeting.” “What! is he gone to an archery meeting in London? But pray, Mr. Oliver, can you tell me why he has been so careful of his own carriage as to take a hired chaise?” “He was afraid, sir, that the journey might be rather too long for his own horses.” “Yes,” interrupted the officer, “it would have been too far for his own horses to travel.”