"Oh, Muttonhead!—a manner of speaking."
"A goaty eye for Jenks' fair daughter belike?"
"No. Merely polite to her, like any gentleman."
"An old man then."
"Forty perhaps."
"Ah, Ben, these ancient cods! They're the worst, didn't you know? Consider our Pontifex, how we sometimes hear him moaning in the night. I tell you, he hath a private succubus. Down the chimney cometh she, most punctually, Wednesdays and Saturdays, to grind him all night long between hot ivory legs, grind him even unto the very last gerunds and aorists and ablatives and first person plural of the verb contorquere."
"Ha?"
"Alas, poor Ben!—no Latin? It means to wriggle."
"Well, shame on you!"
"Button your long lip. You can't say that when I've made you laugh."