This did not in the least move
Sackville's equanimity. 'Take him upstairs, Joseph,' said he to the
hobbadehoy, 'and--Joseph--don't tell his mamma.'
What could make a man so happily disposed, unhappy? What could cause
discomfort, bickering, and estrangement in a family so friendly and
united? Ladies, it was not my fault--it was Mrs. Chuff's doing--but the
rest of the tale you shall have on a future day.
CHAPTER XLIII--CLUB SNOBS
The misfortune which befell the simple and good-natured young Sackville,
arose entirely from that abominable 'Sarcophagus Club;' and that he ever
entered it was partly the fault of the present writer.
For seeing Mrs. Chuff, his mother-in-law, had a taste for the
genteel--(indeed, her talk was all about Lord Collingwood, Lord Gambier,
Sir Jahaleel Brenton, and the Gosport and Plymouth balls)--Wagley and I,
according to our wont, trumped her conversation, and talked about
Lords, Dukes, Marquises, and Baronets, as if those dignitaries were our
familiar friends.
'Lord Sextonbury,' says I, 'seems to have recovered her ladyship's
death. He and the Duke were very jolly over their wine at the
"Sarcophagus" last night; weren't they, Wagley?'
'Good fellow, the Duke,' Wagley replied. 'Pray, ma'am' (to Mrs. Chuff),
'you who know the world and etiquette, will you tell me what a man ought
to do in my case? Last June, his Grace, his son Lord Castlerampant,
Tom Smith, and myself were dining at the Club, when I offered the odds
against DADDYLONGLEGS for the Derby--forty to one, in sovereigns only.
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