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BOOK III.
WAITING FOR DEATH.
Chapter XXIII
“Your horses of the Sun,’ he said,
‘And first-rate whip Apollo!
Whate’er they be, I’ ll eat my head,
But I will beat them hollow.’
F
red Vincy, we have seen. had a debt on his mind, and
though no such immaterial burthen could depress that
buoyant-hearted young gentleman for many hours together,
there were circumstances connected with this debt which
made the thought of it unusually importunate. The credi-
tor was Mr. Bambridge a horse-dealer of the neighborhood,
whose company was much sought in Middlemarch by young
men understood to be ‘addicted to pleasure.’ During the va-
cations Fred had naturally required more amusements than
he had ready money for, and Mr. Bambridge had been ac-
