Mr Baker did not say much; but what he did say, he said well.  They had all seen Frank Gresham grow up from a child; and were now required to welcome as a man amongst them one who was well qualified to carry on the honour of that loved and respected family.  His young friend, Frank, was every inch a Gresham.  Mr Baker omitted to make mention of the infusion of De Courcy blood, and the countess, therefore, drew herself up on her chair and looked as though she were extremely bored.  He then alluded tenderly to his own long friendship with the present squire, Francis Newbold Gresham the elder; and sat down, begging them to drink health, prosperity, long life, and excellent wife to their dear friend Francis Newbold Gresham the younger.

There was a great jingling of glasses, of course; made the merrier and the louder by the fact that the ladies were still there as well as the gentlemen.  Ladies don’t drink toasts frequently; and, therefore, the occasion coming rarely was the more enjoyed.  ‘God bless you, Frank!’ ‘Your good health, Frank!’ ‘And especially a good wife, Frank!’ ’Two or three of them, Frank!’ ’Good health and prosperity to you, Mr Gresham!’ ‘More power to you, Frank, my boy!’ ’May God bless you and preserve you, my dear boy!’ and then a merry, sweet, eager voice from the far end of the table, ’Frank!  Frank!  Do look at me, pray do Frank; I am drinking your health in real wine; ain’t I, papa?’ Such were the addresses which greeted Mr Francis Newbold Gresham the younger as he essayed to rise up on his feet for the first time since he had come to man’s estate.

When the clatter was at an end, and he was fairly on his legs, he cast a glance before him on the table, to look for a decanter.  He had not much liked his cousin’s theory of sticking to the bottle; nevertheless, in the difficulty of the moment, it was well to have any system to go by.  But, as misfortune would have it, though the table was covered with bottles, his eye could not catch one.  Indeed, his eye first could catch nothing, for the things swam before him, and the guests all seemed to dance in their chairs.

Up he got, however, and commenced his speech.  As he could not follow his preceptor’s advice, as touching the bottle, he adopted his own crude plan of ‘making a mark on some old covey’s head,’ and therefore looked dead at the doctor.

’Upon my word, I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen and ladies, ladies and gentlemen, I should say, for drinking my health, and doing me so much honour, and all that sort of thing.  Upon my word I am.  Especially to you, Mr Baker.  I don’t mean you, Harry, you’re not Mr Baker.’

‘As much as you’re Mr Gresham, Master Frank.’

’But I am not Mr Gresham; and I don’t mean to be for many a long year if I can help it; not at any rate till we have had another coming of age here.’

‘Bravo, Frank; and whose will that be?’

’That will be my son, and a very fine lad he will be; and I hope he’ll make a better speech than his father.  Mr Baker said I was every inch a Gresham.  Well, I hope I am.’  Here the countess began to look cold and angry.  ’I hope the day will never come when my father won’t own me for one.’