ttle of claret, he looked up at me
quizzically.

"I have not heard you congratulate me," he said.

"Nor will you," I replied, laughing.

"I like you the better for it, Richard. 'Twas a damned poor performance,
and that's truth."

"I thought the performance remarkable," I said honestly.

"Oh, but it was not," he answered scornfully. "The moment that
dun-coloured Irishman gets up, the whole government pack begins to whine
and shiver. There are men I went to school with I fear more than Burke.
But you don't like to see the champion of America come off second best.
Is that what you're thinking?"

"No. But I was wondering why you have devoted your talents to the
devil," I said, amazed at my boldness.

He glanced at me, and half laughed again.

"You are cursed frank," said he; "damned frank."

"But you invited it."

"Yes," he replied, "so I did. Give me a man who is honest. Fill up
again," said he; "and spit out all you would like to say, Richard."

"Then," said I, "why do you waste your time and your breath in defending
a crew of political brigands and placemen, and a king who knows not the
meaning of the word gratitude, and who has no use for a man of ability?
You have honoured me with your friendship, Charles Fox, and I may take
the liberty to add that you seem to love power more than spoils. You
have originality. You are honest enough to think and act upon your own
impulses. And pardon me if I say you have very little chance on that
side of the house where you have put yourself."

"You seem to have picked up a trifle since you came into England," he
said. "A damned shrewd estimate, I'll be sworn. And for a colonial!
But, as for power," he added a little doggedly, "I have it in plenty, and
the kind I like. The King and North hate and fear me already more than
Wilkes."

"And with more cause," I replied warmly. "His Majesty perhaps knows that
you understand him better, and foresees the time when a man of your
character will give him cause to fear indeed."

He did not answer that, but called for a reckoning; and taking my arm
again, we walked out past the sleeping houses.

"Have you ever thought much of the men we have in the colonies?" I
asked.

"No," he replied; "Chatham stands for 'em, and I hate Chatham on my
father's account. That is reason enough for me."

"You should come back to America with me," I said. "And when you had
rested awhile at Carvel Hall, I would ride with you through the length of