“Very extraordinary this!” cried Mr Delvile; “the most extraordinary circumstance of the kind I ever met with! a person to enter my house in order to talk in this incomprehensible manner! a person, too, I hardly know by sight!”
“Never mind, old Don,” cried Briggs, with a facetious nod, “Know me better another time!”
“Old who, Sir!—what!”
“Come to a fair reckoning,” continued Mr Briggs; “suppose you were in my case, and had never a farthing but of your own getting; where would you be then? What would become of your fine coach and horses? you might stump your feet off before you'd ever get into one. Where would be all this fine crockery work for your breakfast? you might pop your head under a pump, or drink out of your own paw; what would you do for that fine jemmy tye? Where would you get a gold head to your stick?—You might dig long enough in them cold vaults before any of your old grandfathers would pop out to give you one.”
Mr Delvile, feeling more enraged than he thought suited his dignity, restrained himself from making any further answer, but going up to the bell, rang it with great violence.
“And as to ringing a bell,” continued Mr Briggs, “you'd never know what it was in your life, unless could make interest to be a dust-man.”
“A dust-man!”—repeated Mr Delvile, unable to command his silence longer, “I protest”—and biting his lips, he stopt short.
“Ay, love it, don't you? suits your taste; why not one dust as well as another? Dust in a cart good as dust of a charnel-house; don't smell half so bad.”
A servant now entering, Mr Delvile called out “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Sir.”