The postillions cracked their whips, the horses started forward, and amid a shrill hurrah my lord's carriage rolled away from the door.
'Now, who casts ?' the peer cried briskly, arranging himself in his seat.

'George, I'll set you.

The old stakes ?' 'No, I am done for to-night,' Sir George answered yawning without disguise.
'What! crabbed, dear lad ?' 'Ay, set Berkeley, my lord.

He's a better match for you.' 'And be robbed by the first highwayman we meet?
No, no! I told you, if I was to go down to this damp hole of mine--fancy living a hundred miles from White's! I should die if I could not game every day--you were to play with me, and Berkeley was to ensure my purse.' 'He would as soon take it,' Sir George answered languidly, gazing through the glass.
'Sooner, by--!' cried the third traveller, a saturnine, dark-faced man of thirty-four or more, who sat with his back to the horses, and toyed with a pistol that lay on the seat beside him.

'I'm content if your lordship is.' 'Then have at you! Call the main, Colonel.