s
our highwayman and coolly strips him to his very shirt, Jack--ties him
to his horse, and parades him all through Tonbridge--rat me!--and as I
tell you, the wind, Jack--'t was cursedly cold, and--and--oh! strike me
purple!" Here Bentley choked again, and while I thumped his back, he and
Jack rolled in their chairs, and shook the very casements with their
laughter.

"His shirt?" gasped Jack at last, wiping his eyes.

"His shirt," groaned Bentley, wiping his.

"Lord!" cries Jack, "Lord! 'twill be the talk of the town," says he,
after a while.

"To be sure it will," says Bentley, and hereupon they fell a-roaring
with laughter again. For my part, what betwixt thumping Bentley's back
and the memory of Christmas morning now so near, I was sober enough.

They were still howling with laughter, and Bentley's face had already
assumed a bluish tinge, when the door opened and a servant appeared, who
handed a letter to Jack. Still laughing, he took it and broke the seal;
at sight of the first words, however, his face underwent a sudden
change. "Is the messenger here?" says he, very sharp.

"No, Sir John."

"Humph!" says Jack, "you may go then;" and he began to read. But he had
not read a dozen words when he broke out into his customary oath.

"May the devil anoint me! Did you ever hear the like of that, now?"

"What?" says I.

"I say, did you ever hear the like of it?" he repeated. "Dick and
Bentley, this fellow is the very devil!"

"What fellow?" says I.

"Lay you fifty it's Tawnish," gurgled Bentley.

"Done!" says I.

"A deuced pretty coil, on my soul!" says Jack, beginning to limp up and
down, "oh, a deuced pretty coil--damn the fellow!"

"What fellow?" says I again.

"Make it a hundred?" says Bentley, in my ear.

"What fellow?" cries Jack, taking me up, "d'ye mean to sit there and ask
what fellow--whom should it be?"

"Aye, who indeed?" added Bentley.

"If it's Raikes--" I began.

"Raikes," roars Jack, snatching his wig off, "Raikes--bah!"

"Then supposing you will be so very obliging as to tell us who the devil
you do mean?"

"Why, aren't I trying to?" cries Jack, indignantly, "but you give a man
no chance between you. Listen to this." And, having re-settled his wig,
he drew the candles nearer to him and read as follows:

"'My very dear Sir John--'

("The devil anoint his very dear Sir John!)

"'It gives me infinite pleasure to have the honour of telling you--'

("There's a line for you!)