"If it's Raikes—" I began.
"Raikes," roars Jack, snatching his wig off, "Raikes—bah!"
"Then supposing you will be so very obliging as to tell us who the devil you do mean?"
"Why, aren't I trying to?" cries Jack, indignantly, "but you give a man no chance between you. Listen to this." And, having re-settled his wig, he drew the candles nearer to him and read as follows:
"'My very dear Sir John—'
("The devil anoint his very dear Sir John!)
"'It gives me infinite pleasure to have the honour of telling you—'
("There's a line for you!)
"'of telling you that the second of my tasks is now accomplished—to wit, that of making Sir Harry Raikes a laughing-stock.'"
"What?" I cried.