“And then, ye dazzled my eyes at Commons with a bit of looking-glass, on Friday. I saw you. May the devil!—ahem! As I was saying, that’s casting reflections on the heads of the college; and your servant it was, Michaelis Liber, Mickey Free,—may the flames of!—ahem!—an insolent varlet! called me a sweep.”
“You, Doctor; impossible!” said I, with pretended horror.
“Ay, but d’ye see me, now? It’s thrue, for I looked about me at the time, and there wasn’t another sweep in the place but myself. Hell to!—I mean—God forgive me for swearing! but I’ll fine you a pound for this.”
As I saw the doctor was getting on at such a pace, I resolved, notwithstanding the august presence of the board, to try the efficacy of Sir Harry’s letter of introduction, which I had taken in my pocket in the event of its being wanted.
“I beg your pardon, sir, if the time be an unsuitable one; but may I take the opportunity of presenting this letter to you?”
“Ha! I know the hand—Boyle’s. Boyle secundus. Hem, ha, ay! ‘My young friend; and assist him by your advice.’ To be sure! Oh, of course. Eh, tell me, young man, did Boyle say nothing to you about the copy of Erasmus, bound in vellum, that I sold him in Trinity term, 1782?”
“I rather think not, sir,” said I, doubtfully.
“Well, then, he might. He owes me two-and-fourpence of the balance.”
“Oh, I beg pardon, sir; I now remember he desired me to repay you that sum; but he had just sealed the letter when he recollected it.”
“Better late than never,” said the doctor, smiling graciously. “Where’s the money? Ay! half-a-crown. I haven’t twopence—never mind. Go away, young man; the case is dismissed. Vehementer miror quare hue venisti. You’re more fit for anything than a college life. Keep good hours; mind the terms; and dismiss Michaelis Liber. Ha, ha, ha! May the devil!—hem!—that is do—” So saying, the little doctor’s hand pushed me from the hall, his mind evidently relieved of all the griefs from which he had been suffering, by the recovery of his long-lost two-and-four-pence.