(The rector looks gravely at his empty oyster-shells.)
Mr. Sullivan: Things went along about even till th' tenth, when I blacked his lamps.
Caroline: Lamps?
The Rector: Eyes, doubtless.
Caroline: It's getting too deep for me.
Mr. Sullivan: The last round I saw that I had him goin' all right. In two seconds I had burgundy flowin' from his trombone.
(Cathewe leans back in his chair and laughs.)
Mrs. Cathewe (bewilderingly): Burgundy?
Mr. Sullivan (rather impatiently): A jolt on th' nose. Well, there was some more waltzin', and then a hook an' a swing, an' him on th' mat, down an' out. I made six thousand, an' on'y got this tin ear t' show for my trouble.