"How then? I am delighted to get back
to the top of a jolly four horse coach. A
thousand times better than an engine."

"But we are not going by a coach," interposed
his uncle. "The fact is I have bought
a gig—that is, you have; for I don't happen
to be in funds just now. My Warwickshire
rents and the Lancashire coal property,
together with my gold mines in California,
are a little in arrear; and so you see you have
bought a gig."

"I don't want a gig, my dear fellow."

"But I do; and that's the same thing, it
strikes me. In the first place you are more
independent; you can drive into byways and
get across country almost as if you were on
horseback. Secondly, it is a sort of realised
property; for, if the worst comes to the worst,
you can always leave your carriage in
payment of your bill. Thirdly, it acts like a
circular note from a banker, and soothes the
landlord's mind the moment you drive into
the yard."

"And the horse ? " inquired Vincent,
submitting to his fate.

"O! the horse, too; of course; not to
mention harness and whip. A capital stepper,
and full of fire. He ought to be, for
he's valued at twenty pounds. If he hadn't
lately got blind of his chandelier eye, they
would have considered him worth fifty at
least."

"What do you mean by the chandelier
eye? " said the dutiful nephew.

"The eye next the chandelier, I suppose.
He has been one of Astley's troop for an
immense time; and, as I take a flat saddle with
me, well rosined, with all the other apparatus,
at the back of the gig, I can carry on
my lessons whenever we get to a nice piece
of grass: for we are going to have some
amateur horsemanship for the benefit of
the Grimaldi Club, and I have engaged to do
the Flying Courier in flesh coloured tights,
with a mail-coach horn. I take one to practise
on all the way."

"Why, the people will think we're wandering
mountebanks?"

"And good fun, too," replied the uncle.
"Do you know, that is a very excellent
idea. I never thought of that. It would
be a capital way of amusing ourselves
after a day's drive. Can't you sing Hot
Codlins? But, by Jove! you young fellows can
do nothing. There's Timmins of the
Marriage Office, a man of forty-five at least, has
been practising the rope and pole for two
months. He ties a cord to the handles of
two desks, and gets on amazingly; only, once
he had a bad fall, for the locks gave way, the
drawers opened, and, of course, when the
slack came, down he went."

"Well, come along," said Vincent; "you
seem to have left very little of the pie, and
none of the Madeira." (They had been lunching
during the latter part of this dialogue).
"So let us be off. Where's the gig ?"

"At the Piccadilly end," said Sam. "Don't
be surprised; the horse is piebald just now,
but if we have a shower or two he will be a
capital light-brown. I will just drive you
round to Little Ducrow Place, St. James's, to
pick up my letters, and then off to the
Wiltshire streams,

"And Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd."

Vincent laughed at the strange amusements
of his hopeful uncle, and resigned
himself to the journey; for, wasn't it a fishing
excursion he was bound for? and that
implied everything that was delightful.

The gig had a bright green body and bright
red wheels. The harness was apparently an
heirloom of some very old and noble family,
for it was of a very antique fashion, and had
a considerable number of barons' coronets in
faded silver-gilt upon the saddle and blinkers.
The horse might have belonged to the same
period, for its teeth were of the most preternatural
length, its forelegs bent in the form
of a sickle, and its flanks sunk into deep
recesses like the extinguished craters in the
moon. The animal however had more spirit
than might have been expected; and, on being
touched playfully with the thong just under
the shoulder, stood still, and then rising bolt
upright, went through the ceremony of a rear
in a very fierce and determined manner. This,
while it attracted great admiration, caused
some alarm to those who had not witnessed
his performances as the Wild Courser of the
Caucasus. Uncle Sam was so proud of the
performance of his steed that he tipped him
the well-understood signal at the corner of
every street. Vincent thought he observed a
grin upon the countenances of most of the
spectators, and begged the enraptured
charioteer to allow the miserable quadruped to
pursue its course in peace.

"Don't be afraid, Vin," replied Sam.
"He won't run away, and it gets his blood
up. He'll go like a whirlwind when we get
out on the dusty road. At present he thinks
he's dancing the egg dance, and picks his
steps very gingerly. Soho! horse, be steady."

The horse stood still in answer to this
appeal, which was uttered at the door of his
lodgings in Little Ducrow Place; and, on
receiving a slight flick under the shoulder,
prepared to rise in a furious state of indignation
on his hind legs, and threaten destruction
to the gig and its inmates. It was,
however stopped in its laborious efforts at
ungovernable wrath by a gentleman who
suddenly came out of the door, and, on seeing
Uncle Sam, seized him by the hand and
shook it with great warmth. He was a
good-looking young man, very plainly dressed, and
with an eagerness in voice and manner which
contrasted strongly with the characteristics
of his friend.

"I've got it," he said, and touched the
breast of his coat, "and am eternally obliged
to you for your kindness."