For answer he tossed a crumpled piece of paper across to me. "Read that," says he, "I got it not an hour since—read it aloud." Hereupon, smoothing out the creases, I read the following:
Tonbridge, Octr. 30th, 1740.
My dear Sir John,
Fortune, that charming though much vilified dame, hath for once proved kind, for the first, and believe me by far the most formidable of my three tasks, namely, to perform that which each one of you shall avow to be beyond him, is already accomplished, and I make bold to say, successfully.
To be particular, you could not but notice the very objectionable conduct, I might say, the wanton insolence of Sir Harry Raikes upon the occasion of our last interview. Now, Sir John, you, together with Sir Richard Eden and Mr. Bentley, will bear witness to the fact that I not only passed over the affront, but even went so far as to apologise to him myself, wherein I think I can lay claim to having achieved that which each one of you will admit to have been beyond his powers.
Having thus fulfilled the first undertaking assigned me, there remain but two, namely, to make a laughing stock of Sir Harry Raikes (which I purpose to do at the very first opportunity) and to place you three gentlemen at a disadvantage.
So, my dear Sir John, in hopes of soon gaining your esteem and blessing (above all), I rest your most devoted, humble, obedient,
Horatio Tawnish.
"This passes all bounds," says I, tossing the letter upon the table, "such audacity—such presumption is beyond all belief; the question is, whether the fellow is right in his head."
"No, Dick," says Bentley, helping himself to the Oporto, "the question is rather—whether he is wrong in his assertion."