"Why, y-e-e-s, of course. Didn't he skin me out of my watch last winter, playing poker, at Willard's?"
"Well," continued the fat farmer-looking man, "I didn't know Duncan gambled?"
"Mum, not a word out of school; ha, ha! Let's drink, gents. Gamble? Lord bless you, it's common as dish-water down there—I've played euchre for hours with old Tom Benton, Harry Clay and Gen. Scott, right behind the speaker's chair!"
Then they all drank, of course, and some of the party liked to have choked. The company now proposed to adjourn to the smoking room, and they arose and left the table accordingly. The man of all talk promenaded out on to the steps, and in course of half an hour, says the leading spirit of the late dinner, or wine party, to him:—
"Mr. ——a—a—?"
"Ferguson, sir; George Adolphus Ferguson is my address, sir," responded the victim.
"Mr. Ferguson, did you know that your friend Benton was in town?" inquired the wag.
"What, Tom Benton here?"
"And Allen," continued the wag.
"What, Bill Allen, too?" says the victim.