Matt. Done, my dear!
Pilcher. I hope I sha'n't be accused of talking shop if I venture to recall that betting was one of the bad habits I especially warned my congregation against, last night!
Harry. By Jove, yes—I'd forgotten all about that! Of course, if you wish us to cry off——
Pilcher. Well, not exactly. I might perhaps suggest an alternative plan which was tried with great success in my late parish——
Dolly. What was that?
Pilcher. A very capital good fellow—an auctioneer and land surveyor, my churchwarden in fact, by name Jobling—found that in spite of constant good resolutions, certain small vices were gradually creeping upon him. There was an occasional outburst of temper to his clerks, an occasional half glass too much; and on one lamentable market day, he actually discovered himself using bad language to Mrs. Jobling——
Dolly. [Looking at Harry.] Oh! Ah!
Matt. Jobling's gray matter can't have been in good working order.
Pilcher. We corrected that! We got his gray matter under control.
Dolly. How?