The Honourable Crasher, though he smoked a great deal, had neither spirits nor inclination to drink much; consequently, notwithstanding his languor and apparent debility, he had preserved the integrity of his nervous system. Mr. Sawyer too, with a vigorous constitution, unimpaired by previous excesses, was not materially affected by these orgies, although his mouth was very dry in the mornings. All the rest, for the first ten minutes, rode more or less in a funk.
Nevertheless, volumes of smoke curled around the Committee, and the thirst for brandy-and-soda seemed unquenched, unquenchable.
They had discussed the usual topics which enliven the dullness of a bachelor party. They had gone through the different subjects which arise in inevitable rotation. From the merits of horses and the shortcomings of riders, they had proceeded to the fascinations of the other sex, and from that again had, of course, returned to the inexhaustible theme, the merits of horses, once more.
Major Brush, slightly excited, was the first to cross-question Mr. Sawyer about his stud. Hitherto they had treated our friend with the deference due to a stranger; but he was now to be considered one of themselves, and bantered or otherwise accordingly.
“You never ride that bay horse of yours, Sawyer,” said the Major, in an off-hand, free-and-easy sort of way. “I like him in the stable, better than anything you’ve got.”
“Good horse,” replied Mr. Sawyer laconically. “Goes as fast as you can clap your hands.”
Now considerable anxiety had already been excited amongst the grooms of Harborough concerning the powers of the said bay horse. Old Isaac, by an affectation of extreme secrecy, had led one and all to believe there was what they termed “something up” about Marathon; and it was but that morning the Major’s faithful bât-man had thought it right to give his master a hint that “Muster Sawyer had one as they were keepin’ _dark_,” so that the subject created immediate interest amongst the party. Mr. Savage put down the evening paper, behind which he had been observing his friends, with a certain satirical amusement; Struggles paused in the act of raising his tumbler to his lips; and even the Honourable Crasher roused himself sufficiently to turn in his rocking-chair, and gaze with an expression of sleepy curiosity at the owner of the mysterious bay horse. Major Brush pursued his inquiries: