Nothing could be more courteous,
more smiling, than his habitual demeanour; but his bite was
worse than his bark, and nobody knew which candidate his
agents had instructions to support in the coming contest. It
was quite on the cards that the secret order would turn the
scales.
One evening after dinner, when the ladies had left us, the
men were drawn together and settled down to their wine. It
was before the days of cigarettes, and claret was plentifully
imbibed. I happened to be seated next to Lord Hastings on
his left; on the other side of him was Spencer Lyttelton,
uncle of our Colonial Secretary. Spencer Lyttelton was a
notable character. He had much of the talents and amiability
of his distinguished family; but he was eccentric,
exceedingly comic, and dangerously addicted to practical
jokes. One of these he now played upon the spruce and
vigilant little potentate whom it was our special aim to win.
As the decanters circulated from right to left, Spencer
filled himself a bumper, and passed the bottles on. Lord
Hastings followed suit. I, unfortunately, was speaking to
Lyttelton behind Lord Hastings's back, and as he turned and
pushed the wine to me, the incorrigible joker, catching sight
of the handkerchief sticking out of my lord's coat-tail,
quick as thought drew it open and emptied his full glass into
the gaping pocket. A few minutes later Lord Hastings, who
took snuff, discovered what had happened.
