"A very great," meekly suggested the sycophant.
"A very great man," added Sir Christopher, emphatically, as he surveyed himself in a neighbouring mirror. "I tell you what, Mr. Lykspittal—those vulgar citizens of Portsoken must now be ready to cut their throats——"
"A person did expire in that ward very suddenly to-day, Sir Christopher," observed the literary gentleman, drawing upon his imagination for this little incident, which he knew would prove most welcome to the knight's vanity; "and there's every reason to suppose that his death was caused by vexation."
"No doubt of it!" exclaimed the Justice of the Peace, playing with his shirt-frill. "Don't you see that there will be now no necessity for the pamphlets?"
Here Mr. Lykspittal's countenance fell.
"But you shall write instead," continued the knight, "a complete narrative of my most romantic and extraordinary adventures."
Here Mr. Lykspittal's countenance brightened up again.
"No—you shan't, though," cried his patron, an idea striking him.
Again the sycophant's brow became overcast.
"You shall write the history of my life!" added Sir Christopher.