“Veway hot, Bantam,” said his lordship.
“It is very warm, my lord,” replied the M.C.
“Confounded,” assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
“Have you seen his lordship’s mail cart, Bantam?” inquired the Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr. Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been reflecting what subject his lordship could talk about best.
“Dear me, no,” replied the M.C. “A mail cart! What an excellent idea. Re—markable!”
“Gwacious heavens!” said his lordship, “I thought evewebody had seen the new mail cart; it’s the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest thing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a cweam piebald.”
“With a real box for the letters, and all complete,” said the Honourable Mr. Crushton.
“And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,” added his lordship. “I dwove it over to Bristol the other morning, in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter of a mile behind; and confound me if the people didn’t wush out of their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn’t the post. Glorwious, glorwious!”
At this anecdote his lordship laughed very heartily, as did the listeners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of the obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.
“Delightful young man, his lordship,” said the Master of the Ceremonies.