Ansard. My dear Barnstaple, I never was more happy to see you. Sit down, I have much to tell you, all about myself and my difficulties.
Barnstaple. The conversation promises to be interesting to me, at all events.
Ansard. Everything is interesting to true friendship.
Barnstaple. Now I perceive that you do want something. Well, before you state your case, tell me, how did the novel go off?
Ansard. Wonderfully well. It was ascribed to Lord G—: the bait took, and 750 went off in a first edition, and the remainder of the copies printed went off in a second.
Barnstaple. Without being reprinted?
Ansard. Exactly. I was surprised at my success, and told my publisher so; but he answered that he could sell an edition of any trash he pleased.
Barnstaple. That was not flattering.
Ansard. Not very; but his bill was honoured, and that consoled me. However, to proceed to business—he has given me another order—A Journey up the Rhine, in two volumes, large octavo, in the year 18—. Now, Barnstaple, what’s to be done?
Barnstaple. Write it, to be sure.