Mr. Puffington moved briskly among the motley throng, now expatiating on the splendour of the run, now hoping a friend was hungry, asking a third after his wife, and apologizing to a fourth for not having called on his sister.  Still his real thoughts were in the kitchen, and he kept counting noses and looking anxiously at the timepiece.  After the door had had a longer rest than usual, Blossomnose at last cast up:  ’Now we’re all here surely!’ thought he, counting about; ’one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, thirteen, fourteen, myself fifteen—­fifteen, fifteen, must be another—­sixteen, eight couple asked.  Oh, that Pacey’s wanting; always comes late, won’t wait’—­so saying, or rather thinking, Mr. Puffington rang the bell and ordered dinner.  Pacey then cast up.

He was just the sort of swaggering youth that Jack had described; a youth who thought money would do everything in the world—­make him a gentleman, in short.  He came rolling into the room, grinning as if he had done something fine in being late.  He had both his great red hands in his tight trouser pockets, and drew the right one out to favour his friends with it ‘all hot.’

‘I’m late, I guess,’ said he, grinning round at the assembled guests, now dispersed in the various attitudes of expectant eaters, some standing ready for a start, some half-sitting on tables and sofa ends, others resigning themselves complacently to their chairs, abusing Mr. Pacey and all dinner delayers.

‘I’m late, I guess,’ repeated he, as he now got navigated up to his host and held out his hand.

‘Oh, never mind,’ replied Puffington, accepting as little of the proffered paw as he could; ‘never mind,’ repeated he, adding, as he looked at the French clock on the mantelpiece now chiming a quarter past six, ’I dare say I told you we dined at half-past five.’

‘Dare say you did, old boy,’ replied Pacey, kicking out his legs, and giving Puffington what he meant for a friendly poke in the stomach, but which in reality nearly knocked his wind out; ’dare say you did, old boy, but so you did last time, if you remember, and deuce a bite did I get before six; so I thought I’d be quits with you this—­he—­he—­he—­haw—­haw—­haw,’ grinning and staring about as if he had done something very clever.

[Illustration:  MR. PACEY]

Pacey was one of those deplorable beings—­a country swell.  Tomkins and Hopkins, the haberdashers of Swillingford, never exhibited an ugly out-of-the-way neckcloth or waistcoat with the words ’patronized by the Prince,’ ‘very fashionable,’ or ‘quite the go,’ upon them, but he immediately adorned himself in one.  On the present occasion he was attired in a wide-stretching, lace-tipped, black Joinville, with recumbent gills, showing the heavy amplitude of his enormous jaws, while the extreme scooping out of a collarless, flashy-buttoned, chain-daubed, black silk waistcoat, with broad blue stripes, afforded