" And the Marquis flicked open his
snuff-box and extended it towards Barnabas with a bow.
"My Lord," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "I appreciate the honor
you do me, but pray excuse me,--I never take it."
"No?" said the Marquis with raised brows, "you astonish me; but
then--between ourselves--neither do I. Can't bear the infernal stuff.
Makes me sneeze most damnably. And then, it has such a cursed way of
blowing about! Still, one must conform to fashion, and--"
"Captain Slingsby!"
The Gentleman-in-Powder had scarcely articulated the words, when the
Captain had gripped Barnabas by the hand.
"Congratulate you, Beverley, heartily."
"Thank you, but why?" inquired Barnabas.
"Eh--what? Hasn't Jerningham told you? B'gad, is it possible you
don't know--"
"Why, dooce take me, Sling, if I didn't forget!" said the Marquis,
clapping hand to thigh, "but his cravat put everything else out of
my nob, and small wonder either! You tell him."
"No," answered the Captain. "I upset a cursed apple-stall on my way
here--you got in first--tell him yourself."
"Why, then, Beverley," said the Marquis, extending his hand, in his
turn, as he spoke, "we have pleasure, Sling and I, to tell you that
you are entered for the race on the fifteenth.
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