‘N-no!’ said Horatio, with a little hesitation; ‘not exactly.’
‘But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I mistake?’ inquired Flamwell, deferentially.
‘Nearly all my life,’ returned Sparkins.
The question was thus pretty well settled in the mind of Mr. Flamwell. He was a young gentleman ‘about to be called.’
‘I shouldn’t like to be a barrister,’ said Tom, speaking for the first time, and looking round the table to find somebody who would notice the remark.
No one made any reply.
‘I shouldn’t like to wear a wig,’ said Tom, hazarding another observation.
‘Tom, I beg you will not make yourself ridiculous,’ said his father. ‘Pray listen, and improve yourself by the conversation you hear, and don’t be constantly making these absurd remarks.’
‘Very well, father,’ replied the unfortunate Tom, who had not spoken a word since he had asked for another slice of beef at a quarter-past five o’clock, p.m., and it was then eight.
‘Well, Tom,’ observed his good-natured uncle, ‘never mind! I think with you. I shouldn’t like to wear a wig. I’d rather wear an apron.’