"At the supper table, to-night, my worthy sire let slip the information that my good uncle of Sundridge had been expected this afternoon. He had not arrived when I left home fifteen minutes ago, but probably is stuck in the mud a mile or two outside of London on the St. Albans road." "Let him stick! What is it to us?" asked Crofts. "Thus much it is to me," answered Wentworth. "He has with him a thousand pounds in gold, while I, his gentleman nephew, have not a jacobus to my name. Now the question becomes one of mere humanity. Shall we allow my good uncle to stick in the mud, or shall we sally forth like good Samaritans, relieve him of a part of his load, and make travelling easier for the dear old man?" "As men and Christians, we must hasten to his help," declared Crofts. "But how about Hamilton and Churchill?" asked Berkeley, whose courage was not of the quality to make a good highwayman. "Crofts has invited them here for a feast with us. How shall we get rid of them? Hamilton has become a mere milksop, and Churchill always was too cautious and politic for this sort of a game. Not only will they refuse to go with us if we tell them of our purpose, but they will try to keep us from going." "Let us take them with us," suggested Crofts. "They won't go if we tell them our purpose, but they will not peach if we take them with us upon some other excuse. We'll walk ahead of them, and--but come with me to the fire. I have a plan. All I ask you to do, Wentworth, is to shake out your cloak, hang it before the fire, and speak of the rain and the bad night outside. I'll do the rest! I'll fetch them! Come!" Laughing boisterously, the three swaggered over to Hamilton and Churchill, who were sitting by the fireside. Wentworth took off his coat, held it before the blaze to dry, and said, with a terrible oath:-- "Bad night without! Never saw it rain so hard! Raw and cold for this time of the year!" Crofts ordered a fresh bowl of Rack punch; then, turning to Wentworth, asked:-- "Raining? Who cares for a little rain? I like to be out in it. By the way, I have a wager to offer! Ten pounds to the man to the table; winner to take the lump!" "Hear! Hear!" cried everybody. "Let us all walk out on the St. Albans road without our cloaks, the last man to turn homeward wins the entire stake." "Good!" shouted Wentworth. "I must owe my ten pounds to the pot until to-morrow." "And I'll take the wager! Here's my money!" said Berkeley, throwing ten pounds to the table. "Will you go?" asked Crofts, addressing Hamilton. That evening George was in a mood for any adventure having action in it, for he was nearly out of money. He did not suspect the real purpose of the absurd wager, and after a moment's consideration of the forty pounds to be won, declared:-- "I'll win the pot if I have to go to Edinburgh!" "And you, Churchill?" asked Crofts. "You're a pack of fools, but I'll go," replied Churchill, knocking the ashes from his pipe.