CHAPTER XLIII--CLUB SNOBS.
The misfortune which befell the simple and good-natured young Sackville, arose entirely from that abominable 'Sarcophagus Club;' and that he ever entered it was partly the fault of the present writer.
For seeing Mrs.Chuff, his mother-in-law, had a taste for the genteel--( indeed, her talk was all about Lord Collingwood, Lord Gambier, Sir Jahaleel Brenton, and the Gosport and Plymouth balls)--Wagley and I, according to our wont, trumped her conversation, and talked about Lords, Dukes, Marquises, and Baronets, as if those dignitaries were our familiar friends.
'Lord Sextonbury,' says I, 'seems to have recovered her ladyship's death.

He and the Duke were very jolly over their wine at the "Sarcophagus" last night; weren't they, Wagley ?' 'Good fellow, the Duke,' Wagley replied.

'Pray, ma'am' (to Mrs.Chuff), 'you who know the world and etiquette, will you tell me what a man ought to do in my case?
Last June, his Grace, his son Lord Castlerampant, Tom Smith, and myself were dining at the Club, when I offered the odds against DADDYLONGLEGS for the Derby--forty to one, in sovereigns only.
His Grace took the bet, and of course I won.

He has never paid me.

Now, can I ask such a great man for a sovereign ?--One more lump of sugar, if you please, my dear madam.' It was lucky Wagley gave her this opportunity to elude the question, for it prostrated the whole worthy family among whom we were.