The young fellows now loosened tongue; and Dick Curtis, the promising cricketer of Hampshire, cried, “Mr. Moody, my hearty! that’s your fourth glass, so don’t quarrel with me, now!”

“You!” Moody fired up in a bilious frenzy, and called him a this and that and t’ other young vagabond; for which the company, feeling the ominous truth contained in Dick Curtis’s remark more than its impertinence, fined Mr. Moody in a song.  He gave the—­

     “So many young Captains have walked o’er my pate,
     It’s no wonder you see me quite bald, sir,”

with emphatic bitterness, and the company thanked him.  Seeing him stand up as to depart, however, a storm of contempt was hurled at him; some said he was like old Sedgett, and was afraid of his wife; and some, that he was like Nic Sedgett, and drank blue.

     “You’re a bag of blue devils, oh dear! oh dear!”

sang Dick to the tune of “The Campbells are coming.”

“I ask e’er a man present,” Mr. Moody put out his fist, “is that to be borne?  Didn’t you,” he addressed Dick Curtis,—­“didn’t you sing into my chorus—­”

     ‘It’s no wonder to hear how you squall’d, sir?’

“You did!”

“Don’t he,”—­Dick addressed the company, “make Mrs. Boulby’s brandy look ashamed of itself in his face?  I ask e’er a gentleman present.”

Accusation and retort were interchanged, in the course of which, Dick called Mr. Moody Nic Sedgett’s friend; and a sort of criminal inquiry was held.  It was proved that Moody had been seen with Nic Sedgett; and then three or four began to say that Nic Sedgett was thick with some of the gentlemen up at Fairly;—­just like his luck!  Stephen let it be known that he could confirm this fact; he having seen Mr. Algernon Blancove stop Nic on the road and talk to him.

“In that case,” said Butcher Billing, “there’s mischief in a state of fermentation.  Did ever anybody see Nic and the devil together?”

“I saw Nic and Mr. Moody together,” said Dick Curtis.  “Well, I’m only stating a fact,” he exclaimed, as Moody rose, apparently to commence an engagement, for which the company quietly prepared, by putting chairs out of his way:  but the recreant took his advantage from the error, and got away to the door, pursued.

“Here’s an example of what we lose in having no President,” sighed the jolly butcher.  “There never was a man built for the chair like Bob Eccles I say!  Our evening’s broke up, and I, for one, ‘d ha’ made it morning.  Hark, outside; By Gearge! they’re snowballing.”

An adjournment to the front door brought them in view of a white and silent earth under keen stars, and Dick Curtis and the bilious boatbuilder, foot to foot, snowball in hand.  A bout of the smart exercise made Mr. Moody laugh again, and all parted merrily, delivering final shots as they went their several ways.

“Thanks be to heaven for snowing,” said Mrs. Boulby; “or when I should have got to my bed, Goodness only can tell!” With which, she closed the door upon the empty inn.