Mr. Wogan had snatched the ballad into his hands by this time, where he intended to keep it.
'Gentlemen,' he asked, 'are you entirely sober?'
'Does my speech betray me? 'said Tyrell, who, to do him justice, was wholly in his right mind.
'That is no answer; but, if it were, and if you don't care for a lady's name--'
'She jilted the Parson!' cried the Crow.
'Have you no thought of the reputation of--Mr. Farmer?'
'Mr. Farmer?' exclaimed Tyrell. Mr. Farmer was the cant name for the Chevalier, and Tyrell scratched his head, wondering what on earth the Chevalier had to do in the same galley with the Parson's love affairs.
'Mr. Farmer!' replied the Crow, blinking his eyes reproachfully. 'Indeed, it is yourself has been drinking, Nick. What has the ballad of poor George's misfortune to do with Mr. Farmer, a gentleman of unbleb--upblem--I repeat, sir,' said the Crow with solemnity, 'a gentleman of unblemished reputation?'
'Mark how a long word trips you up, and the evening so young!'
'Mr. Farmer's health! I buzz the bottle!' cried the Crow, putting out his hand to the bottle, that was nearly empty.