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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Is Cinquebars coming down here this year?" "I don't know," said Maxwell. "I hope not. He's the best fellow in the world, but he can't ride, and he don't care for hunting, and he makes more row than any fellow I ever met. I wish some fellow could tell me something about that fellow's brown horse." "I'd never buy a horse of Vavasor's if I were you," said Grindley.
Every word fell from Mr Fitzhoward with the elaborate accuracy of a separate pistol-shot; and as he became pleased with himself in his progress, and warm with his work, he accented his words sharply, made rhetorical pauses, even moved his hands about in action, and quite disgusted his own party, who had been very well satisfied with Lord Cinquebars.
Mr Bott sat close behind him, and men knew that Mr Bott was a distinguished member of Mr Palliser's party, whatever that party might be. Lord Cinquebars moved the Address, and I must confess that he did it very lamely. He was once accused by Mr Maxwell, the brewer, of making a great noise in the hunting-field.
"He had a brown horse last season," said Grindley; "a little thing that went very fast, but wasn't quite sound on the road." "That was a mare," said Maxwell, "and he sold her to Cinquebars."* "For a hundred and fifty," said Calder Jones, "and she wasn't worth the odd fifty." "He won seventy with her at Leamington," said Maxwell, "and I doubt whether he'd take his money now."
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