it got into my blood, and as the first faint light of that morning crept
into the empty streets, we were still at it, Fox vowing that he never
waked up until daylight. That the best things he said in the House came
to him at dawn.




CHAPTER XXXII

LADY TANKERVILLE'S DRUM-MAJOR

The rising sun, as he came through the little panes of the windows,
etched a picture of that room into my brain. I can see the twisted
candles with their wax smearing the sticks, the chairs awry, the tables
littered with blackened pipes, and bottles, and spilled wine and tobacco
among the dice; and the few that were left of my companions, some with
dark lines under their eyes, all pale, but all gay, unconcerned, witty,
and cynical; smoothing their ruffles, and brushing the ashes and snuff
from the pattern of their waistcoats. As we went downstairs, singing a
song Mr. Foote had put upon the stage that week, they were good enough to
declare that I should never be permitted to go back to Maryland. That my
grandfather should buy me a certain borough, which might be had for six
thousand pounds.

The drawing-room made a dismal scene, too, after the riot and disorder of
the night. Sleepy servants were cleaning up, but Fox vowed that they
should bring us yet another bottle before going home. So down we sat
about the famous old round table, Fox fingering the dents the gold had
made in the board, and philosophizing; and reciting Orlando Furioso in