"I know him," said Cis Hetherington, who had lounged up and joined the party; "Tom Hammond, a thundering big fellow. His vicarage, or rectory, or whatever it is, is close by Dursley; and at the last election Tom seconded my brother--Westonhanger, you know--for the county. The Rads brought over a lot of roughs, navvies and fellows who were working at the railway close by; and whenever Tom spoke these fellows kept yelling out all sorts of blackguard language. Tom roared to them to stop it; and when they wouldn't, he quietly let himself drop over the front of the hustings, right into the middle of 'em. He's a splendid bruiser, you know; and he let out--one two, one two--right and left, and sent half-a-dozen of 'em flying like skittles. Then he asked if any more was wanted, carefully settled his clerical white choker, and went back to the hustings again." "He owed your brother a good turn after the way in which he astonished your governor a year or two ago, Cis," said Lord Dollamore. "What was that? Did he pull the Duke up for coming late to the church, or for not hunting the county? The last most likely, I should think." "Not at all. You all know what a tremendous swell Cis's brother, the Duke, is,--you know it, Cis, as well as anybody,--wants all the pavement to himself in St. James's Street, and finds the arch on Constitution Hill not quite high enough for his head. Well, a year or two ago Tom Hammond had a splendid roan horse which he used to drive in a light Whitechapel to cover. The Duke saw this animal, and thought it would make a splendid match for a roan of his; so he sent his coachman over to Tom's little place to ask if he'd sell. Tom saw the coachman, heard what he had to say, and then told him he never spoke to grooms, except to give them orders; if the Duke wanted the horse, he must come himself. I can't think what message the man can have given to his master; but two days after, the Duke's phaeton pulled up at the parsonage door, and the Duke himself bowed to Tom, who ran to the window with his mouth full of lunch. Tom's account of the interview was delicious. He imitates the Duke's haw-haw manner to perfection,--you don't mind, Cis? He asked him in, and told him that the Stilton was in prime cut; but the Duke declined, and said, I understand you wish to sell your roan, Mr. Hammond.' 'Then your grace understands a good deal more than I gave you credit for,' said Tom. 'Then you don't want to sell the horse? I want him particularly for a match-horse.' 'No,' said Tom, 'I won't sell him. I'm a poor parson, and I wouldn't take three hundred for him; but I'll tell you what I'll do, your grace. I'm always open to a bit of sporting; and _I'll toss your grace for the pair_; or, if that's not exciting enough, I'll get my curate to come in--he's only next door--and we'll go the odd man, the best of three. That's what I'll do.' Tom says he thought the Duke would have had a fit. He never spoke a word, but drove straight away,