Miss Kauffman, who sat at Sir Joshua's right, smiled a trifle vaguely, for she had not quite understood the drift of Goldsmith's phrase, but from the other end of the table there came quite an outburst of laughter. Garrick sat there with Mrs. Bunbury and Baretti, to whom he was telling an imaginary story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room.
Dr. Burney, who sat at the other side of the table, had ventured to question the likelihood of an audience's apprehending the humour of the story at which Diggory had only hinted. He wondered if the story should not be told for the benefit of the playgoers.
A gentleman whom Bunbury had brought to dinner—his name was Colonel Gwyn, and it was known that he was a great admirer of Mary Horneck—took up the question quite seriously.
“For my part,” he said, “I admit frankly that I have never heard the story of Grouse in the gun-room.”
“Is it possible, sir?” cried Garrick. “What, you mean to say that you are not familiar with the reply of Ould Grouse to the young woman who asked him how he found his way into the gun-room when the door was locked—that about every gun having a lock, and so forth?”
“No, sir,” cried Colonel Gwyn. “I had no idea that the story was a familiar one. It seems interesting, too.”
“Oh, 't is amazingly interesting,” said Garrick. “But you are an army man, Colonel Gwyn; you have heard it frequently told over the mess-table.”
“I protest, sir,” said Colonel Gwyn, “I know so little about it that I fancied Ould Grouse was the name of a dog—I have myself known of sporting dogs called Grouse.”
“Oh, Colonel, you surprise me,” cried Garrick. “Ould Grouse a dog! Pray do not hint so much to Dr. Goldsmith. He is a very sensitive man, and would feel greatly hurt by such a suggestion. I believe that Dr. Goldsmith was an intimate friend of Ould Grouse and felt his death severely.”
“Then he is dead?” said Gwyn. “That, sir, gives a melancholy interest to the narrative.”