The indignation of Lord Colambre kindled at these words--but in vain.
To all that indignation could by word or look urge against Mordicai, he
replied--

'Maybe so, sir; the law is open to your friend--the law is open to all
men who can pay for it.'

Lord Colambre turned in despair from the callous coach-maker, and
listened to one of his more compassionate-looking workmen, who was
reviewing the disabled curricle; and, whilst he was waiting to know the
sum of his friend's misfortune, a fat, jolly, Falstaff looking personage
came into the yard, accosted Mordicai with a degree of familiarity,
which, from a gentleman, appeared to Lord Colambre to be almost
impossible.

'How are you, Mordicai, my good fellow?' cried he, speaking with a
strong Irish accent.

'Who is this?' whispered Lord Colambre to the foreman, who was examining
the curricle.

'Sir Terence O'Fay, sir. There must be entire new wheels.'

'Now tell me, my tight fellow,' continued Sir Terence, holding Mordicai
fast, 'when, in the name of all the saints, good or bad, in the
calendar, do you reckon to let us sport the SUICIDE?'

Mordicai forcibly drew his mouth into what he meant for a smile, and
answered, 'As soon as possible, Sir Terence.'