"Jack," said Bill, smiting the marble table emphatically, "you are my best friend."
"Pooh, pooh! you flatter me," said Jack, blushing like a peony; "I've never done any thing for you."
"Yes, you have, and you know it," persisted Bliffins. "Didn't you fight Lieutenant Jenkins, of the Salamander, when I ought to have fought him myself? Haven't you endorsed my notes when nobody else would back my paper?"
"I'll do it again, my boy," said Jack, with a gush of enthusiastic feeling.
"Ahem! your name on short or long paper isn't exactly what it used to be," said Bill, rather unfeelingly, perhaps.
"True, true," returned Jack, in a more subdued tone; "I haven't got many friends left in the synagogues."
"But what you have done, Jack," continued Bliffins, with enthusiasm, "emboldens me to trespass yet further on your patience."
"With all my heart," said Jack; and there was no reservation implied in the hearty tone in which the words were uttered.
"Then listen to my story, as the postilion of Longjumeau sings. Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear."
"I'll be mute as the codfish in the House of Representatives."