Mr. Garrick then, looking smilingly around him at the group, which, enlarged by his first favourite young Charles, most smilingly met his arch glances, sportively said, “And so, Doctor, you, with your tag rag and bobtail there—”
Here he pointed to some loaded shelves of shabby unbound old books and pamphlets, which he started up to recognise, in suddenly assuming the air of a smart, conceited, underling auctioneer; and rapping with his cane upon all that were most worn and defaced, he sputtered out: “A penny a-piece! a penny a-piece! a-going! a-going! a-going! a penny a-piece! each worth a pound!—not to say a hundred! a rare bargain, gemmen and ladies! a rare bargain! down with your copper!”
Then, quietly re-seating himself, “And so, Doctor,” he continued, “you, and tag-rag and bobtail, there, shut yourself up in this snug little book-stall, with all your blithe elves around you, to rest your understanding?”
Outcries now of “Oh fie!” “Oh abominable!” “Rest his understanding? how shocking!” were echoed in his ears with mock indignancy from the mock-offended set, accompanied by hearty laughter from the Doctor.
Up rose Mr. Garrick, with a look of pretended perturbation, incoherently exclaiming, “You mistake—you quite misconceive—you do, indeed! pray be persuaded of it!—I only meant—I merely intended—be sure of that!—be very sure of that!—I only purposed; that is, I designed—I give you my word—’pon honour, I do!—I give you my word of that!—I only had in view—in short, and to cut the matter short, I only aimed at paying you—pray now take me right!—at paying you the very finest compliment in nature!”
“Bravo, bravo! Mr. Bayes!” cried the Doctor, clapping his hands: “nothing can be clearer!—”
Mr. Garrick had lent the Doctor several books of reference; and he now inquired the titles and number of what were at present in his possession.
“I have ten volumes,” answered the Doctor, “of Memoirs of the French Academy.”
“And what others?”
“I don’t know—do you, Fanny?”—turning to his librarian.