“Gentlemen to run with all the dirty boys looking on like horses,” remonstrated the grammatical one, “it is a disgrace.”
“So it is—for the one that is beat. Well, I was to meet Hazeltine to supper out of town. By-the-by, you don't know Tom Yates?”
“Oh,” said Jenny, “I have heard of him, too.”
“I doubt that; there are a good many of his name.”
“The rake, I mean; lives a mile or two out of Sydney.
“So do half a dozen more of them.”
“This one is about the biggest gambler and sharper unhung.”
“All right! that is my friend! Well, he gave us a thundering supper—lots of lush.”
“What is lush?”
“Tea and coffee and barley-water, my dear. Oh! can't you put the thundering irons down when I say a good thing? Well, I mustn't be witty any more, the penalty is too severe.”