an uninterrupted view of a costly embroidered shirt, the view extending, indeed, up to a portion of his white satin ‘forget-me-not’ embroidered braces.  His coat was a broad-sterned, brass-buttoned blue, with pockets outside, and of course he wore a pair of creaking highly varnished boots.  He was apparently, about twenty; just about the age when a youth thinks it fine to associate with men, and an age at which some men are not above taking advantage of a youth.  Perhaps he looked rather older than he was, for he was stiff built and strong, with an ample crop of whiskers extending from his great red docken ears round his harvest moon of a face.  He was lumpy, and clumsy, and heavy all over.  Having now got inducted, he began to stare round the party, and first addressed our worthy friend Mr. Spraggon.

‘Well, Sprag, how are you?’ asked he.

‘Well, Specs’ (alluding to his father’s trade), ‘how are you?’ replied Jack, with a growl, to the evident satisfaction of the party, who seemed to regard Pacey as the common enemy.

Fortunately just at the moment Mr. Plummey restored harmony by announcing dinner; and after the usual backing and retiring of mock modesty, Mr. Puffington said he would ‘show them the way,’ when there was as great a rush to get in, to avoid the bugbear of sitting with their backs to the fire, as there had been apparent disposition not to go at all.  Notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of affairs, Mr. Spraggon placed himself next Mr. Pacey, who sat a good way down the table, while Mr. Sponge occupied the post of honour by our host.

In accordance with the usual tactics of these sort of gentlemen, Spraggon and Sponge essayed to be two—­if not exactly strangers, at all events gentlemen with very little acquaintance.  Spraggon took advantage of a dead silence to call up the table to Mister Sponge to take wine; a compliment that Sponge acknowledged the accordance of by a very low bow into his plate, and by-and-by Mister Sponge ‘Mistered’ Mr. Spraggon to return the compliment.

‘Do you know much of that—­that—­that—­chap?’ (he would have said snob if he’d thought it would be safe) asked Pacey, as Sponge returned to still life after the first wine ceremony.

‘No,’ replied Spraggon, ‘nor do I wish.’

‘Great snob,’ observed Pacey.

‘Shocking,’ assented Spraggon.

‘He’s got a good horse or two, though,’ observed Pacey; ’I saw them on the road coming here the other day.’  Pacey, like many youngsters, professed to be a judge of horses, and thought himself rather sharp at a deal.

‘They are good horses,’ replied Jack, with an emphasis on the good, adding, ‘I’d be very glad to have one of them.’

Mr. Spraggon then asked Mr. Pacey to take champagne, as the commencement of a better understanding.

The wine flowed freely, and the guests, particularly the fresh infusion, did ample justice to it.  The guests of the day before, having indulged somewhat freely, were more moderate at first, though they seemed well inclined to do their best after they got their stomachs a little restored.  Spraggon could drink any given quantity at any time.