out with one hand or the other, which he believed to be unique, and the effect of which he was most curious to observe.  The less skillful with their fists used any other weapons that came handy.  The dessert service of Dresden porcelain, elaborately enameled with views of the chief towns of Germany, had once been the marriage portion of a princess, and was justly held to be one of the rarest treasures of Crompton; but it was no more respected now than if it had furnished forth the table of Pirithous.  The plates skimmed about like quoits, and all the board became a wreck of glass and china.  Above the clamor and the fighting could be heard Carew’s strident voice demanding his beaker, pouring unimaginable anathemas against any one who should do it damage, and threatening to unmuzzle and bring in his bear.  The servants, not unused to such mad tumults, gathered in a mass at the doorway, and awaited with equanimity the subsidence of the storm among their betters.  It came at last, and found the scene of contest not unlike a ship after storm—­the decks all but clean swept, and the crew (who had broken into the spirit-room) exhausted.

Richard Yorke, who, with his two neighbors, had taken no part in the affray beyond defending himself from blows or missiles, was even more astonished at the general good-humor that now succeeded than at the fracas itself.  If there had been any bad blood among the combatants, it seemed to have been spilled, for there was now nothing but laughter and applausive drumming of fists upon the table.  The company were as pleased with their own performance as the holiday faces that greet with such exuberant joy the havoc upon the stage at pantomime time.  The habitues of Crompton, indeed, were not unlike wild school-boys, with a Lord of Misrule for their master, and “give and take” for their one good precept.  Nay, the rude outbreak had even a beneficial effect, for it cut short the orgie, which might, and probably would, have otherwise been prolonged for hours.  There was no dissentient voice when Mr. Byam Ryll arose and observed, in demure accents:  “Suppose, my dear friends, that we join the ladies.”

CHAPTER VII.

YORKE REPORTS PROGRESS.

I trust it will not be imagined, and far less hoped for, by any reader of this sober narrative, that the phrase which concluded the last chapter implies that he or she is about to be introduced to bad company.  The fair sex will not be without their representatives in our story, and that soon; but they will not be such as blushed unseen (if they blushed at all) in the bowers at Crompton.  Mr. Ryll’s suggestion, “Let us join the ladies,” was only an elegant way he had, and which was well understood by his audience, of proposing an adjournment to the billiard-room.  If that worthy old gentleman could be said to have had any source of income whatever, it was the billiard-table; and hence it was that he