“Quinion,” said Mr. Murdstone, “take care, if you please. Somebody’s sharp.”
“Who is?” asked the gentleman, laughing.
I looked up, quickly; being curious to know.
“Only Brooks of Sheffield,” said Mr. Murdstone.
I was quite relieved to find it was only Brooks of Sheffield; for, at first, I really thought it was I.
There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily when he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also. After some laughing, the gentleman whom he had called Quinion, said:
“And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to the projected business?”
“Why, I don’t know that Brooks understands much about it at present,” replied Mr. Murdstone; “but he is not generally favourable, I believe.”
There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he did; and when the wine came, he made me have a little, with a biscuit, and, before I drank it, stand up and say “Confusion to Brooks of Sheffield!”
The toast was received with great applause, and such hearty laughter that it made me laugh too; at which they laughed the more. In short, we quite enjoyed ourselves.