k, get your fellow to twist it behind till you're well-nigh
choked to death, bring the ends over your shoulders, loop 'em through a
brooch and 'tis done. I propose to show you after supper."

"Hum!" said the Major dubiously. "Meantime a bottle won't be amiss
after your long ride, I judge? Come in, Tom, come in and tell me of
your adventures."

"Thank'ee, sir, though t' be sure I drapped in at the "George" on my
way hither--left my two rogues there with my baggage. Which reminds me
I have a letter for you." Diving into his coat-pocket he brought forth
the missive in question and tendered it to the Major who took it, broke
the seal and read.

"To Major d'Arcy these:

We, the undersigned, do solicit the honour of your company this night,
to sup with Bacchus, the Heavenly Nine, and

Yours to command:

B. TRIPP.
ALVASTON.
A. MARCHDALE.
H. WEST, CAPT.
ALTON.
J. DENHOLM."

"I don't see Mr. Dalroyd's name here, Tom!" said the Major,
thoughtfully, as he led the way into the house.

"Nay sir, I protest Dalroyd's a queer fish! But as to this cravat I
was describing, 'tis a modification of the Steenkirk----" and the
Viscount plunged into a long and particular account of the article,
while in obedience to the Major's command, bottle and glasses made
their appearance.

"But surely 'tis not a question of clothes hath kept you in London this
week and more, Tom?"

"Nay sir, I've been on a quest. London, O pink me 'tis a very
dog-hole, 'tis no place for a gentleman these days unless he chance to
be a Whig or a damned Hanoverian----"

"Hold, Tom!" said the Major, his quick eyes roving from door to
lattice. "Have a care, lad!"

"Nay sir, I know I'm safe to speak out here and to you, Whig though you
be. Of late I've perforce kept such ward upon my tongue 'tis a joy to
let it wag. Indeed, nunky, London's an ill place for some of us these
times, party feeling high. 'Tis for this reason you find Alvaston and
Ben and Alton and the rest of 'em rusticating here, not to mention--my
lady Bet."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Major. "You don't mean that she--she is not----?"

"No sir! But there is her brother, poor Charles is bit deep, he
crossed the Border with Derwentwater last year."

"I feared so!" sighed the Major, frowning at his half-emptied glass.
"And you, Tom, you're not----?"

"Sir, my rascally father, as you'll mind, was a staunch Whig and
Hanoverian, naturally and consequently I'm Tory and Jac