Then something happened, and so quickly that it cannot be writ fast
enough. Pollux bolted like a shot out of a sling, vaulted the railing as
easily as you or I would hop over a stick, and galloping across the lawn
and down the embankment flung his Grace into the Serpentine. Precisely,
as Mr. Fox afterwards remarked, as the swine with the evil spirits ran
down the slope into the sea.

An indescribable bedlam of confusion followed, lords and gentlemen,
tradesmen and grooms, hostlers and apprentices, all tumbling after, many
crying with laughter. My Lord Sandwich's jockey pulled his Grace from
the water in a most pitiable state of rage and humiliation. His side
curls gone, the powder and pomatum washed from his hair, bedraggled and
muddy and sputtering oaths, he made his way to Lord March, swearing by
all divine that a trick was put on him, that he would ride the stallion
to Land's End. His Lordship, pulling his face straight, gravely informed
the duke that the match was over. With this his Grace fell flatly
sullen, was pushed into a coach by Sir John and the captain, and drove
rapidly off Kensington way, to avoid the people at the corner.




CHAPTER XXXVIII

IN WHICH I AM ROUNDLY BROUGHT TO TASK

I would have gone to Arlington Street direct, but my friends had no
notion of letting me escape. They carried me off to Brooks's Club, where
a bowl of punch was brewed directly, and my health was drunk to three
times three. Mr. Storer commanded a turtle dinner in my honour. We were