“That's exactly what I have. I 'll stand anything, I don't care what, if it be fun. Say it's a 'joke,' and you'll never see me show bad temper; but if any fellow tries it on with me because he fancies himself a swell, or has a handle to his name, he 'll soon discover his mistake. Old Culduff began that way. You 'd laugh if you saw how he floundered out of the swamp afterwards.”
“Tell us about it, Cutty,” said Jack, encouragingly.
“I beg to say I should prefer not hearing anything which might, even by inference, reflect on a person holding Lord Culduff's position in my profession,” said Temple, haughtily.
“Is that the quarter the wind 's in?” asked Cutbill, with a not very sober expression in his face.
“Sing us a song, Cutty. It will be better than all this sparring,” said Jack.
“What shall it be?” said Cutbill, seating himself at the piano, and running over the keys with no small skill. “Shall I describe my journey to Ireland?”
“By all means let's hear it,” said Augustus.
“I forget how it goes. Indeed, some verses I was making on the curate's sister have driven the others out of my head.”
Jack drew nigh, and leaning over his shoulder, whispered something in his ear.
“What!” cried Cutbill, starting up; “he says he'll pitch me neck and crop out of the window.”