“Long before Mr. Boswell came to town, sir.”
“Undoubtedly, sir—long before you became recognised as the most melodious of our poets—the most diverting of our play-writers. I wrote the prologue to your first play, Goldy, and I'll stand sponsor for your second—nay, sir, not only so, but I'll also go to see it, and if it be damned, I'll drink punch with you all night and talk of my tragedy of 'Irene,' which was also damned; there's my hand on it, Dr. Goldsmith.”
Goldsmith pressed the great hand with both of his own, and tears were in his eyes and his voice as he said—
“Your generosity overpowers me, sir.”
CHAPTER IV.
Boswell, who was standing to one side watching—-his eyes full of curiosity and his ears strained to catch by chance a word—the little scene that was being enacted in a corner of the room, took good care that Johnson should be in his charge going home. This walk to Johnson's house necessitated a walk back to his own lodgings in Piccadilly; but this was nothing to Boswell, who had every confidence in his own capability to extract from his great patron some account of the secrets which had been exchanged in the corner.
For once, however, he found himself unable to effect his object—nay, when he began his operations with his accustomed lightness of touch, Johnson turned upon him, saying—
“Sir, I observe what is your aim, and I take this opportunity to tell you that if you make any further references, direct or indirect, to man, woman or child, to the occurrences of this evening, you will cease to be a friend of mine. I have been humiliated sufficiently by a stranger, who had every right to speak as he did, but I refuse to be humiliated by you, sir.”