‘We’ll drink Mr Pacey’s health,’ said Mr Puffington helping himself to a bumper, and passing the lately replenished decanters. ‘He’s done the thing like a sportsman, and deserves to have luck with his deal. Your good health, Mr Pacey!’ continued he, addressing himself specifically to our friend, ‘and luck to your horse.’

‘Your good health, Mr Pacey -- your good health Mr Pacey -- your good health, Mr Pacey,’ then followed in the various intonations that mark the feelings of the speaker towards the toastee, as the bottles passed round the table.

The excitement seemed to have given fresh zest to the wine, and those who had been shirking, or filling on heel-taps, now began filling bumpers, while those who always filled bumpers now took back hands.

There is something about horse-dealing that seems to interest everyone. Conversation took a brisk turn, and nothing but the darkness of the night prevented their having the horse out and trying him. Pacey wanted him brought into the dining-room, àa la Briggs, but Puff wouldn’t stand that. The transfer seemed to have invested the animal with supernatural charms, and those who in general cared nothing about horses wanted to have a sight of him.

Toasting having commenced, as usual, it was proceeded with. Sponge’s health followed that of Mr Pacey’s, Mr Puffington availing himself of the opportunity afforded by proposing it, of expressing the gratification it afforded himself and all true sportsmen to see so distinguished a character in the country; and he concluded by hoping that the diminution of his stud would not interfere with the length of his visit -- a toast that was drunk with great applause.

Mr Sponge replied by saying, ‘That he certainly had not intended parting with his horse, though one more or less was neither here nor there, especially in these railway times, when a man had nothing to do but take a half guinea’s worth of electric wire, and have another horse in less than no time; but Mr Pacey having taken a fancy to the horse, he had been more accommodating to him than he had to his friend, Mr Spraggon, if he would allow him to call him so’ (Jack squinted and bowed assent), ‘who,’ continued Mr Sponge, ‘had in vain attempted that morning to get him to put a price upon him.’

‘Very true,’ whispered Jack to Pacey, with a feel of the elbow in his ribs, adding, in an undertone, ‘the beggar doesn’t think I’ve got him in spite of him, though.’

‘The horse,’ Mr Sponge continued, ‘was an undeniable good ’un and he wished Mr Pacey joy of his bargain.’

This venture having been so successful, others attempted similar means, appointing Mr Spraggon the arbitrator. Captain Guano challenged Mr Fogo’s phaeton, while Mr Fogo retaliated upon the captain’s chestnut horse; but the captain did not hold money to the award. Blossomnose challenged Mr Miller’s pig: but the latter could not be induced to claim anything of the worthy rector’s for Mr Spraggon to exercise his appraising talents upon. After an evening of much noise and confusion, the wine-heated party at last broke up -- the staying company retiring to their couches, and the outlying ones finding their ways home as best they could.