“In a minute one of his grinders was seized — caught in a vice, wrenched, twisted, pulled. Heaven spare us all the horrible agony! I can’t laugh any more. The grinder came out at last, in the midst of stifled screams, and I’m afraid, curses. It came out, and the young man was guilty of an assault on the body of the dexterous operator. Mr. Filey went down.
“‘Where’s the lady? Where’s Sir Sampson Spriggs? ’ roars the young man, with his hand on his mouth.
“‘My dear sir,’ says Mr. Filey. You really — you may be eccentric; but when one is doing you a good, sir — doing you a service — ’
“‘ Service,’ splutters the wretched young fellow. 'Service to pull out a tooth when I didn’t ask you! ’
“‘Ask me, sir,’ says Mr. Filey. ‘ When I tell you it has been arranged by your estimable aunt, Lady Spriggs, and that it was paid for yesterday — ’
“‘Paid for yesterday! ’ bawls the victim, starting back.
“‘This tooth, sir, was paid for yesterday,’ says Mr. Filey, impressively.
“‘Lady Spriggs — my aunt?’ exclaimed the confounded youth.
“Come, sir,’ says Mr. Filey. ‘I think what- ever your objection to part with it, you owe me an apology. I will not say, in due form. I expected caprice. But really such violence!’
“The young man deliberately asked for Sir Sampson Spriggs, or the parcel of jewels which he hail brought half an hour ago from the shop of Messrs. Spitchcock and Co., whose servant he distinctly proclaimed himself to be.
“‘ Bless me! ’ cried Mr. Filey, ‘is there some mistake! Have I really? — on my honour, I — ’
“‘ If you will go up to Sir Sampson Spriggs, and get that parcel of jewellery immediately — ’ said the young man.
“Mr. Filey started.
“‘I won’t prosecute you,’ the young man added, washing his mouth out with water.
“‘You are not the nephew of Sir Sampson?’ said Mr. Filey.
“‘Don’t laugh at a chap, after what you’ve done to him,’ growled the young man.
“‘There’s a mistake,’ said Mr. Filey. ‘Sir Sampson is not here. It was an innocent stratagem— ’
“‘Innocent? ’ sneers the young man.
“‘To get you to submit to the operation — Lady Spriggs — ’
“‘Will you ring for her, or not!’ cries the no longer unsuspicious youth.
“The bell was rung. The ready page informed them that Lady Spriggs had left the house shortly after her brief interview with the young man. By degrees the consummate confidence of Mr. Filey in her ladyship was melted and dispersed. He accompanied the young man to Messrs. Spitchcock’s, relates his share in the adventure, and made, let us hope, something like due reparation to the poor victim of the cleverest piece of rascality I know of. The rest was in the hands of the police and my agents in London.
“At any rate — you talk of miserable nights — I think you’ll allow, gentlemen, that there was a miserable day for any poor fellow under the sun.”
On the whole, we certainly thought that this young fellow was worse off than the Colonel.
“If comparisons were in good taste,” said Mr. Lorquison, “I should request permission to observe, that your day is more horrible than any night I ever heard of. To lose a tooth for nothing, egad! Allow me to fill your glass, sir. Bottom of the bowl, by George I How say you, gentlemen?”
Oh, decidedly! we answer: a fresh bowl! During the brew we conversed. Mr. Selby tried us with a ghost. But there was no belief to be had in it, though the wind did blow, and it was Christmas. The dealer in hops laughed outright, and struck his gaiters at the real climax of the phantom. This gentleman had evidently something on his mind.
“Talking of miserable days,” said I, as I held my glass to be replenished by Mr. Lorquison’s second great triumph in the business of punch-brewing; “talking of miserable days, a friend of mine passed one in a railway carriage, which is, I think, almost unsurpassed.”
“Out with it! Let’s hear it!” cried the company, settling in semi-circle round the fire, glass in hand.
A TERRIBLE DAY IN A RAILWAY CARRIAGE.
“But first, to appreciate the incident,” I began, “you must know my friend. He is the most bashful of men, and he stutters: under the influence of excitement, he can hardly speak. Afflicted by a sense of shame, he would fain be dead and buried. To such men life may be a daily tragedy. My friend also is liable to misfortune; so that, v’ith a light heart, and a great capacity for enjoyment, he is usually as miserable as any Manichaan would desire. I seldom meet him but he has some dire calamity to communicate to me. And, as if by fatality, it is of a kind that reddens the cheeks of a bashful man. I might tell you many extraordinary adventures that have befallen him. This was his last.
“My friend, you must know — we will call him Harry Saxon — is a very amiable amateur- cricketer, out of his bank. He will take the train at six o’clock in the morning to be down a himdred miles north or w'est, to a match. On the occasion which led him to his disaster, he had journeyed down north and played his game with success and satisfaction. But the next morning he had to be up in town in time for the first official hour at his bank, so he made short work of it over-night, and escaped to bed at half -past one a.m.; breakfasted hastily at half-past five, and hurried to the station as quick as he could, arriving there twenty minutes too early, which cooled him; so much so that, when he entered the carriage, he bethought him that he had on his light cricketing-trousers, and might as well — since he had a warm pair, and
was alone in the carriage — change them and comfort his limbs. He remembered also that he could not appear at his bank in light flannels. I hope no one will see any harm in that resolve. If the