'Now, my dear Scrope,' said Cadurcis, 'now for quiet and philosophy.
The laughter of those infernal women, the rattle of those cursed dice,
and the oaths of those ruffians are still ringing in my ears. Let us
compose ourselves, and moralise.'
Accustomed to their master's habits, who generally turned night into
day, the household were all on the alert; a blazing fire greeted them,
and his lordship ordered instantly a devil and the burnt Burgundy.
'Sit you down here, my Scrope; that is the seat of honour, and you
shall have it. What is this, a letter? and marked "Urgent," and in a
man's hand. It must be read. Some good fellow nabbed by a bailiff,
or planted by his mistress. Signals of distress! We must assist our
friends.'
The flame of the fire fell upon Lord Cadurcis' face as he read the
letter; he was still standing, while his friend was stretched out in
his easy chair, and inwardly congratulating himself on his comfortable
prospects. The countenance of Cadurcis did not change, but he bit
his lip, and read the letter twice, and turned it over, but with a
careless air; and then he asked what o'clock it was. The servant
informed him, and left the room.
'Scrope,' said Lord Cadurcis, quietly, and still standing, 'are you
very drunk?'
'My dear fellow, I am as fresh as possible; you will see what justice
I shall do to the Burgundy.
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