“My dearest creature,” cried Isabella, to whom the duty of
friendship immediately called her before she could get into the
carriage, “you have been at least three hours getting ready. I was
afraid you were ill. What a delightful ball we had last night. I have a
thousand things to say to you; but make haste and get in, for I long to
be off.”

Catherine followed her orders and turned away, but not too soon to hear
her friend exclaim aloud to James, “What a sweet girl she is! i quite
dote on her.”

“You will not be frightened, Miss Morland,” said Thorpe, as he handed
her in, “if my horse should dance about a little at first setting off. He will, most likely, give a plunge or two, and perhaps take the rest
for a minute; but he will soon know his master. He is full of spirits,
playful as can be, but there is no vice in him.”

Catherine did not think the portrait a very inviting one, but it was
too late to retreat, and she was too young to own herself frightened;
so, resigning herself to her fate, and trusting to the animal’s boasted
knowledge of its owner, she sat peaceably down, and saw Thorpe sit down
by her. Everything being then arranged, the servant who stood at the
horse’s head was bid in an important voice “to let him go,” and off
they went in the quietest manner imaginable, without a plunge or a
caper, or anything like one. Catherine, delighted at so happy an
escape, spoke her pleasure aloud with grateful surprise; and her
companion immediately made the matter perfectly simple by assuring her
that it was entirely owing to the peculiarly judicious manner in which
he had then held the reins, and the singular discernment and dexterity
with which he had directed his whip. Catherine, though she could not
help wondering that with such perfect command of his horse, he should
think it necessary to alarm her with a relation of its tricks,
congratulated herself sincerely on being under the care of so excellent
a coachman; and perceiving that the animal continued to go on in the
same quiet manner, without showing the smallest propensity towards any
unpleasant vivacity, and (considering its inevitable pace was ten miles
an hour) by no means alarmingly fast, gave herself up to all the
enjoyment of air and exercise of the most invigorating kind, in a fine
mild day of February, with the consciousness of safety. A silence of
several minutes succeeded their first short dialogue; it was broken by
Thorpe’s saying very abruptly, “Old Allen is as rich as a Jew—is not
he?” Catherine did not understand him—and he repeated his question,
adding in explanation, “Old Allen, the man you are with.”

“Oh! mr. Allen, you mean. Yes, I believe, he is very rich.”

“And no children at all?”

“No—not any.”

“A famous thing for his next heirs. He is _your_ godfather, is not he?”

“My godfather! no.”

“But you are always very much with them.”

“Yes, very much.”

“Aye, that is what I meant. He seems a good kind of old fellow enough,
and has lived very well in his time, I dare say; he is not gouty for
nothing. Does he drink his bottle a day now?”

“His bottle a day! no. Why should you think of such a thing? He is a
very temperate man, and you could not fancy him in liquor last night?”

“Lord help you! you women are always thinking of men’s being in liquor. Why, you do not suppose a man is overset by a bottle? I am sure of
_this_—that if everybody was to drink their bottle a day, there would
not be half the disorders in the world there are now. It would be a
famous good thing for us all.”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Oh! lord, it would be the saving of thousands. There is not the
hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom that there ought to
be. Our foggy climate wants help.”

“And yet I have heard that there is a great deal of wine drunk in
Oxford.”

“Oxford! there is no drinking at Oxford now, I assure you. Nobody
drinks there. You would hardly meet with a man who goes beyond his four
pints at the utmost. Now, for instance, it was reckoned a remarkable
thing, at the last party in my rooms, that upon an average we cleared
about five pints a head. It was looked upon as something out of the
common way. _Mine_ is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would not
often meet with anything like it in Oxford—and that may account for it. But this will just give you a notion of the general rate of drinking
there.”

“Yes, it does give a notion,” said Catherine warmly, “and that is, that
you all drink a great deal more wine than I thought you did. However, I
am sure James does not drink so much.”

This declaration brought on a loud and overpowering reply, of which no
part was very distinct, except the frequent exclamations, amounting
almost to oaths, which adorned it, and Catherine was left, when it
ended, with rather a strengthened belief of there being a great deal of
wine drunk in Oxford, and the same happy conviction of her brother’s
comparative sobriety. Thorpe’s ideas then all reverted to the merits of his own equipage, and
she was called on to admire the spirit and freedom with which his horse
moved along, and the ease which his paces, as well as the excellence of
the springs, gave the motion of the carriage. She followed him in all
his admiration as well as she could. To go before or beyond him was
impossible. His knowledge and her ignorance of the subject, his
rapidity of expression, and her diffidence of herself put that out of
her power; she could strike out nothing new in commendation, but she
readily echoed whatever he chose to assert, and it was finally settled
between them without any difficulty that his equipage was altogether
the most complete of its kind in England, his carriage the neatest, his
horse the best goer, and himself the best coachman. “You do not really
think, Mr. Thorpe,” said Catherine, venturing after some time to
consider the matter as entirely decided, and to offer some little
variation on the subject, “that James’s gig will break down?”

“Break down! oh, lord! did you ever see such a little tittuppy thing in
your life? There is not a sound piece of iron about it. The wheels have
been fairly worn out these ten years at least—and as for the body! upon
my soul, you might shake it to pieces yourself with a touch. It is the
most devilish little rickety business I ever beheld! thank God! we have
got a better. I would not be bound to go two miles in it for fifty
thousand pounds.”

“Good heavens!” cried Catherine, quite frightened. “Then pray let us
turn back; they will certainly meet with an accident if we go on. Do
let us turn back, Mr. Thorpe; stop and speak to my brother, and tell
him how very unsafe it is.”

“Unsafe! oh, lord! what is there in that? They will only get a roll if
it does break down; and there is plenty of dirt; it will be excellent
falling. Oh, curse it! the carriage is safe enough, if a man knows how
to drive it; a thing of that sort in good hands will last above twenty
years after it is fairly worn out. Lord bless you!