stay ten of it at Newmarket, it'll be all the same, and I can go home
from there just as well as from here"; so saying, he took another turn
at the tea. The race list was a tempting one, Riddlesworth, Craven
Stakes, Column Stakes, Oatlands, Port, Claret, Sherry, Madeira, and all
other sorts. A good week's racing in fact, for the saintly sinners who
frequent the Heath had not then discovered any greater impropriety in
travelling on a Sunday, then in cheating each other on the Monday. The
tea was good, as were the prawns and eggs, and George brought a second
muffin, at the very moment that the Yorkshireman had finished the last
piece of the first, so that by the time he had done his breakfast and
drawn on his boots, which were dryer and pleasanter than the recent damp
weather had allowed of their being, he felt completely at peace with
himself and all the world, and putting on his hat, sallied forth with
the self-satisfied air of a man who had eat a good breakfast, and yet
not too much.

Newmarket was still uppermost in his mind, and as he sauntered along
in the direction of the Strand, it occurred to him that perhaps Mr.
Jorrocks might have no objection to accompany him. On entering that
great thoroughfare of humanity, he turned to the east, and having
examined the contents of all the caricature shops in the line, and paid
threepence for a look at the _York Herald_, in the Chapter Coffee-house,
St. Paul's Churchyard, about noon he reached the corner of St. Botolph
Lane. Before Jorrocks & Co.'s warehouse, great bustle and symptoms
of brisk trade were visible. With true city pride, the name on the
door-post was in small dirty-white letters, sufficiently obscure to
render it apparent that Mr. Jorrocks considered his house required no
sign; while, as a sort of contradiction, the covered errand-cart before
it, bore "JORROCKS & Co.'s WHOLESALE TEA WAREHOUSE," in great gilt
letters on each side of the cover, so large that "he who runs might