‘Oh, Jack, I’m onhappy!’ exclaimed he.  ‘I’m distressed!’ continued he.  ’I’m wretched!’ added he, slapping his knees.  ‘I’m perfectly miserable!’ he concluded, with a strong emphasis on the ‘miserable.’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jack, who was half-asleep himself.

[Illustration:  HIS LORDSHIP AND JACK]

‘Oh, that Mister Something!—­he’ll be the death of me!’ observed his lordship.

‘I thought so,’ replied Jack; ‘what’s the chap been after now?’

‘I dreamt he’d killed old Lablache—­best hound I have,’ replied his lordship.

‘He be ——­,’ grunted Jack.

’Ah, it’s all very well for you to say “he be this” and “he be that,” but I can tell you what, that fellow is going to be a very awkward customer—­a terrible thorn in my side.’

‘Humph!’ grunted Jack, who didn’t see how.

‘There’s mischief about that fellow,’ continued his lordship, pouring himself out half a tumbler of gin, and filling it up with water.  ’There’s mischief about the fellow.  I don’t like his looks—­I don’t like his coat—­I don’t like his boots—­I don’t like anything about him.  I’d rather see the back of him than the front.  He must be got rid of,’ added his lordship.

‘Well, I did my best to-day, I’m sure,’ replied Jack.  ’I was deuced near wanting the patent coffin you were so good as to promise me.’

‘You did your work well,’ replied his lordship; ’you did your work well; and you shall have my other specs till I can get you a new pair from town; and if you’ll serve me again, I’ll remember you in my will—­I’ll leave you something handsome.’

‘I’m your man,’ replied Jack.

‘I never was so bothered with a fellow in my life,’ observed his lordship.  ’Captain Topsawyer was bad enough, and always pressed far too close on the hounds, but he would pull up at a check; but this rusty-booted ’bomination seems to think the hounds are kept for him to ride over.  He must be got rid of somehow,’ repeated his lordship; ’for we shall have no peace while he’s here.’

‘If he’s after either of the Jawley girls, he’ll be bad to shake off,’ observed Jack.

‘That’s just the point,’ replied his lordship, quaffing off his gin with the air of a man most thoroughly thirsty; ‘that’s just the point,’ repeated he, setting down his tumbler.  ’I think if he is, I could cook his goose for him.’

‘How so?’ asked Jack, drinking off his glass.

‘Why, I’ll tell you,’ replied his lordship, replenishing his tumbler, and passing the old gilt-labelled blue bottle over to Jack; ’you see, Frosty’s a cunning old file, picks up all the news and gossip of the country when he’s out at exercise with the hounds, or in going to cover—­knows everything!—­who licks his wife, and whose wife licks him—­who’s after such a girl, and so on—­and he’s found out somehow that this Mr. What’s-his-name isn’t the man of metal he’s passing for.’