"Yes, sir."
"Very well; I understand that. Let me repeat: in the town of
Winchester there are two classes, besides the natives—Dutch and
Irish. Is that right? I never was very quick."
"Just right."
"Well, tell me about them, and how your revenge is concerned with them. Tell me all about them. Dutch and Irish!—I know nothing of them."
"I will, sir,—I will tell you," said Mr. Jinks, gulping down one-fourth of his glass of rum; "and, I think, by the time I have developed my idea, you will agree with me that the revenge I have chalked out, sir, is worthy of an inventive talent higher than my own."
"No, no," said Ralph, in a tone of remonstrance, "you know there could be none."
"Yes," said Mr. Jinks, modestly, "I know myself, sir—I have very little merits, but there are those who are superior to me in that point."
Which seemed to mean that the quality of invention was the sole failing in Mr. Jinks' intellect—all his other mental gifts being undoubtedly superior to similar gifts in humanity at large.
"Well, we won't interchange compliments, my dear fellow," replied
Ralph, puffing at his pipe; "go on and explain about the Dutch and
Irish—I repeat, that I absolutely know nothing of them."
Mr. Jinks sipped his rum, and after a moment's silence, commenced.