“Ah, yes; positive bad, comparative Baddeley, superlative Colman.”
“If I could compose a phrase like that, Mrs. Abington, I should be the greatest wit in London, and ruin my life going from coffee house to coffee house repeating it.”
“Pray do not tell Mrs. Baddeley that I made it, sir.”
“How could I, madam, when you have just told me that a she-devil was more than you could cope with?”
CHAPTER XXII.
And now, sir, to face the particulars—to proceed from the fancy embroidery of wit to the solid fabric of fact—who or what is the aggressive demon that you want exorcised?”
“His name is Jackson—he calls himself Captain Jackson,” replied Oliver. He had not made up his mind how much he should tell of Mary Horneck's story. He blamed Boswell for interrupting his consideration of this point after he had dined; though it is doubtful if he would have made any substantial advance in that direction even if the unhappy Scotchman had not thrust himself and his grievance upon him.
“Jackson—Captain Jackson!” cried the actress. “Why, Dr. Goldsmith, this is a very little fiend that you ask me to help you to destroy. Surely, sir, he can be crushed without my assistance. One does not ask for a battering-ram to overturn a house of cards—one does not requisition a park of artillery to demolish a sparrow.”