“Nay, sir,” cried Dr. Burney, “I do not believe that the chalybeate cataracts still flow: 'tis my firm belief, from the expression of your face, that you have swallowed the whole spring—the Wells of Tunbridge must have been dried up by you before you left—your face betrays you. I vow that so chalybeate an expression could not be attained by lesser means.”
“Sir, you do me honour, and you have a larger faith in me than my own physician,” said the little man, brightening up somewhat. “Would you believe that he had the effrontery to accuse me of shirking the hourly pailful that he prescribed for me?”
“He had not seen you as we have, Mr. Garrick,” said Dr. Burney.
“He accused me of spending my days making matches and making mischief in the Assembly Rooms and only taking the waters by sips—me, sir, that have so vivid a memory of Mr. Pope's immortal lines:
A little sipping is a dangerous tiling,
Drink deep or taste not the chalybeate spring!”
“You were traduced, my friend—but tell us of the matches and the mischief and we shall be the more firmly convinced of your integrity.”
“Nay, sir; I give you my word that 'twas but the simplest of matches—not by any means of the sort that yonder desperado fresh from the South Seas applies to the touch-hole of one of his horrible ten-pounders when the enemy's frigate has to be sunk—nay, a simple little match with no more powder for it to burn than may be found on the wig of a gentleman of fifty-two and on the face of a lady of forty-five—the one a gay bachelor, t'other a ripe widow—' made for one another,' said I; and where was the mischief in that? And if I ventured to broach the subject of the appropriateness of the union of the twain, and to boast under the inspiring influence of the chalybeate spring that I could bring it about, is there anyone that will hint that I was not acting out of pure good nature and a desire to make two worthy folk happy—as happy as marriage can make any two——-”
“Give us their names, sir, and let us judge on that basis,” said Dr. Bumey.
“I have no desire to withhold them, my dear Doctor; for I want you to back me up, and I am sure that—oh, Lord! here comes the man himself. For the love of heaven, back me up, Doctor, and all will be well.”