"Come! say that the broil is bad!"
"It is burnt to a cinder."
"Burnt? Why it's underdone!"
"Well, sir—every man to his taste—you may have yours; leave me mine."
"Oh, certainly; I see you are determined to like nothing. You'll say next that Lavinia's butter is not sweet."
The lawyer growls.
"I have no desire to offend Miss Lavinia," he says, solemnly; "but
I'll take my oath that there's garlic in it—yes, sir, garlic!"
The Squire bursts into a roar of laughter.
"Good!" he cries—"you are in a cheerful and contented mood. You drop in just when Lavinia has perfected her butter, and made it as fresh as a nosegay; and when the cook has sent up bread as sweet as a kernel, to say nothing of the broil, done to a turn—you come when this highly desirable state of things has been arrived at, and presume to say that this is done, that is burnt, the other is tainted with garlic! Admire your own judgment!"
And the Squire laughs jovially at his discomfited and growling opponent.