"He is not ill: I am. He is paid to take care of me: I am not paid to
take care of him," said the young lord sententiously.

"I understand," replied Fitzroy, dryly. "Well, every one for himself,
and Providence for us all--as the elephant said when he danced among the
chickens."

Here my lord was summoned to dine with the captain. Staines was not
there; but he had not forgotten his duty; in the midst of his grief he
had written a note to the captain, hoping that a bereaved husband might
not seem to desert his post if he hid for a few hours the sorrow he
felt himself unable to control. Meantime he would be grateful if Captain
Hamilton would give orders that Lord Tadcaster should eat no pastry, and
drink only six ounces of claret, otherwise he should feel that he was
indeed betraying his trust.

The captain was pleased and touched with this letter. It recalled to him
how his mother sobbed when she launched her little middy, swelling with
his first cocked hat and dirk.

There was champagne at dinner, and little Tadcaster began to pour out a
tumbler. "Hold on!" said Captain Hamilton; "you are not to drink that;"
and he quietly removed the tumbler. "Bring him six ounces of claret."

While they were weighing the claret with scientific precision, Tadcaster
remonstrated; and, being told it was the doctor's order, he squeaked
out, "Confound him! why did not he stay with his wife? She is
beautiful." Nor did he give it up without a struggle. "Here's
hospitality!" said he. "Six ounces!"