Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. "What in the world is it?" he asked.
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