ld do to drag the gig through the holding mire.
Bump, bump, jolt, jolt, creak, creak, went the vehicle. Jack now diving his
elbow into the lad's ribs, the lad now diving his into Jack's; both now
threatening to go over on the same side, and again both nearly chucked on
to the old mare's quarters. A sharp, cutting sleet, driving pins and
needles directly in their faces, further disconcerted our travellers. Jack
felt acutely for his new eight-and-sixpenny hat, it being the only article
of dress he had on of his own.

Long and tedious as was the road, weak and jaded as was the mare, and long
as Jack stopped at Starfield, he yet reached Jawleyford Court before the
messenger Harry.

As our friend Jawleyford was stamping about his study anathematizing a
letter he had received from the solicitor to the directors of the Doembrown
and Sinkall Railway, informing him that they were going to indulge in the
winding-up act, he chanced to look out of his window just as the contracted
limits of a winter's day were drawing the first folds of night's muslin
curtain over the landscape, when he espied a gig drawn by a white horse,
with a dot-and-go-one sort of action, hopping its way up the slumpey
avenue.

'That's Buggins the bailiff,' exclaimed he to himself, as the recollection
of an unanswered lawyer's letter flashed across his mind; and he was just
darting off to the bell to warn Spigot not to admit any one, when the lad's
cockade, standing in relief against the sky-line, caused him to pause and
gaze again at the unwonted apparition.

'Who the deuce can it be?' asked he of himself, looking at his watch, and
seeing it was a quarter-past four. 'It surely can't be my lord, or that
Jack Spraggon coming after all?' added he, drawing out a telescope and
opening a lancet-window.

'Spraggon, as I live!' exclaimed he, as he caught Jack's harsh, spectacled
features, and saw him titivating his hair and arranging his collar and
stock as he approached.

'Well, that beats everything!' exclaimed Jawleyford, burning with rage as
he fastened the window again.

He stood for a few seconds transfixed to the spot, not knowing what on
earth to do. At last resolution came to his aid, and, rushing upstairs to
his dressing-room, he quickly divested himself of his coat and waistcoat,
and slipped on a dressing-gown and night-cap. He then stood, door in hand,
listening for the arrival. He could just hear the gig grinding under the
portico, and distinguis