wretch brought a bottle; he drank with the footman all along the road;
and now, as you see, they are at each other's throats in their drunken
fury. Sure we shall never get home in time for the rout we are bid to."

"Shall I drive you to London, ma'am?" said Desmond, "'Twere best to leave
the men to settle their differences."

"But can you drive?"

"Oh, yes," replied Desmond, with a smile. "I am used to horses."

"Then I beg you to oblige us. Yes, let the wretches fight themselves
sober.

"Phyllis, this gentleman will drive us; come."

The girl--a fair, rosy cheeked, merry-eyed damsel of fifteen or
thereabouts--left the horses' heads and entered the carriage with her
mother. Desmond made a rapid examination of the harness to see that all
was right; then he mounted the box and drove off. The noise of the
rumbling wheels penetrated the besotted intelligence of the struggling
men; they scrambled to their feet, looked wildly about them, and set off
in pursuit. But they had no command of their limbs; they staggered
clumsily this way and that, and finally found their level in the slimy
ditch that flanked the road.

Desmond whipped up the horses in the highest spirits. He had hoped for a
lift in a farmer's cart; fortune had favored him in giving him four
roadsters to drive himself. And no boy, certainly not one of his romantic
impulses, but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladies in