his own remaining two, leads off tierce major in that very suit of spades
of which the parson has only one,--and the captain, indeed, but two,--
forces out the captain's queen, and wins the game in a canter.

PARSON (with a look at the captain which might have become the awful
brows of Jove, when about to thunder).--"That, I suppose, is the new-
fashioned London play! In my time the rule was, 'First save the game,
then try to win it.'"

CAPTAIN.--"Could not save it, sir."

PARSON (exploding)--"Not save it!--two ruffs in my own hand,--two tricks
certain till you took them out! Monstrous! The rashest trump."--Seizes
the cards, spreads them on the table, lip quivering, hands trembling,
tries to show how five tricks could have been gained,--N.B. It is
/short/ whist which Captain Barnabas had introduced at the Hall,--can't
make out more than four; Captain smiles triumphantly; Parson in a
passion, and not at all convinced, mixes all the cards together again,
and falling back in his chair, groans, with tears in his voice.--"The
cruellest trump! the most wanton cruelty!"

The Hazeldeans in chorus.--"Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha!" The captain, who
does not laugh this time, and whose turn it is to deal, shuffles the
cards for the conquering game of the rubber with as much caution and
prolixity as Fabius might have employed in posting his men. The squire
gets up to stretch his legs, and, the insinuation against his hospitality
recurring to his thoughts, calls out to his wife, "Write to Rickeybockey
to-morrow yourself, Harry, and ask him to come and spend two or three
days here. There, Mrs. Dale, you hear me?"