"How are you, my tulip?" shouted Talbot. "Why, Chichester said you had the blue devils!"
"I really felt unequal to society to-day," returned Richard; "and I fancied that a little rest——"
"A little humbug!" ejaculated Mr. Talbot. "That's all my eye and my elbow, Markham. A d—d good bottle of champagne will soon put you to rights. But when I'm ill, what do you think I always take?"
"I really can't guess."
"Why, going to bed I always take a pint of dog's nose. There's nothing like dog's-nose for getting into the system. You must have it in the pewter, you know—and nice and hot: you will then sweat a bucket-full in the course of the night, and get up in the morning as right as a trivet. I can assure you there's nothing like dog's-nose."
"And pray what is dog's-nose!" enquired Richard.
"Well, may I be hanged! you are jolly green not to know what dog's-nose is! You take half a pint of the best half-and-half—or you may have ale all alone, if you like—a quartern of blue ruin——"
"It is a mixture of gin, beer, and sugar," said Mr. Chichester, impatiently.
"Well, and why couldn't you let me tell the gentleman how to make dog's-nose in my own manner?" asked Talbot, somewhat sulkily. "However, there's nothing better than dog's-nose for the gripes, or wind on the stomach, or the rheumatics. For my part——"
"D—n your part!" cried the Honourable Arthur Chichester, now absolutely losing all patience.