154 THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



warn't agoing to be coachman to King Pluto ? But I tell 

 you, Mr. Francis, it's no use speaking to the Squire about 

 these here old blacks ; it's my lady that will do the busi- 

 ness. I often hear my lady praising other gentlefolk's 

 coach-horses ; and I once heard her say she ' wished Mr. 

 Raby would get a better sort in his stable.' Now you 

 know, sir, the Squire never refuses my lady anything ; 

 see what expense he goes to with those tame pheasants, 

 and that trumpery flower-garden ; I am sure, sir, one word 

 from my lady would do it." 



" Oh, I'll do it ! " said Frank ; " I am determined these 

 stinking, greasy-heeled brutes shall be drafted, and that 

 infernal old coach, too ; for you might as well attempt to 

 drive four horses from a stool, as from that thing called a 

 box." 



Then the old and faithful butler was talked to, much 

 after this fashion, the first time our hero caught him 

 alone in his pantry. 



" Is your stock of claret low ?" demanded Frank. 



" Not particularly so," replied the butler. 



"The Squire has got very shy of it, then," resumed 

 Frank ; " I was quite annoyed on Monday, when Sir 

 John Inkletou and those gentlemen dined here ; he 

 never called for it until he had half poisoned them 

 with his ' old port,' as he calls it, only fit for the 

 steward's room." 



" It is very dear, you know, Mr. Francis ; at least, such 

 as is drunk in this house ; Carbonell's best. Let me see, 

 nearly 100 the hogshead, or twelve shillings the bottle ; 

 a deal of money, sir, to be swallowed at four glasses ! it's 

 like swallowing gold, Mr. Francis." 



" Nonsense," said Francis ; " what if it is 1 there is 

 plenty here to pay for it. And the champagne ; how is it 

 we did not have champagne on Monday?" "Lord ! sir," 

 replied the butler, "you would not drink champagne in 

 such cold weather as this ; it's only fit for the dog-days, 

 when you want something to cool you." "Well," said 

 our hero, " these things must be altered, or few of my 

 friends will come a second time to the Abbey." 



Next comes Mrs. Jones, the old housekeeper. 



" Upon my word, Mother Jones," said the young Squire 

 to her, as she was giving out some essentials to the cook, 

 " you are getting very slack, indeed ; and as for you," ad- 

 dressing himself to the cook, " it is time to put you on 



