"Ah, ha! Mr. Buck," says the Sheriff, "glad (?) to see you."
"Fine day, Sheriff?"
"Elegant, sir, prime," says the Sheriff.
"What do you think of Mr. Jigger's speech on the Clam trade? Did you read Mr. Porkapog's speech on the widening of Jenkins's ditch?"
For which general remarks on the affairs of the nation, Sheriff F. put some corresponding replies, and so they proceeded along until they approached a well-known dining saloon, then under the supervision of a burly Englishman; and, as it was about the time people dined, and the Sheriff being a man that liked a fat dinner and a fine bottle, about as well as any body, when the Hon. Mr. Buck proposed—
"What say you, Sheriff, to a dinner and a bottle of old Sherry, at ——? We don't often meet (?), so let's sit down and have a quiet talk over things."
"Well, Mr. Buck," says the Sheriff, "I would like to, just as soon as not, but I've got a disagreeable bit of business with you, and it would be hardly friendly to eat your dinner before apprizing you of the fact, sir."
"Ah! Sheriff, what is it, pray?" says the somewhat alarmed Diddler; "nothing serious, of course?"
"Oh, no, not serious, particularly; only a writ, Mr. Buck; a writ, that's all."
"For my arrest?"