“Supper! Supper! thank God!” exclaimed Sir Philip, as supper was now announced. “I’d never set my foot in a ballroom,” added he, with several suitable oaths, “if it were not for the supper.”
“Is that a rational being?” cried Forester to Dr. Campbell, after Sir Philip had passed them.
“Speak a little lower,” said Dr. Campbell, “or he will infallibly prove his title to rationality by shooting you, or by making you shoot him, through the head.”
“But, sir,” said Forester, holding Dr. Campbell fast, whilst all the rest of the company were going down to supper, “how can you bear such a number of foolish, disagreeable people with patience?”
“What would you have me do?” said Dr. Campbell. “Would you have me get up and preach in the middle of a ball-room? Is it not as well, since we are here, to amuse ourselves with whatever can afford us any amusement, and to keep in good humour with all the world, especially with ourselves?—and had we not better follow the crowd to supper?”
Forester went down-stairs; but, as he crossed an antechamber, which led to the supper-room, he exclaimed, “If I were a legislator, I would prohibit balls.”
“And if you were a legislator,” said Dr. Campbell, pointing to a tea-kettle, which was on the fire in the antechamber, and from the spout of which a grey cloud of vapour issued—“if you were a legislator, would not you have stoppers wedged tight into the spouts of all tea-kettles in your dominions?”
“No, sir,” said Forester; “they would burst.”
“And do you think that folly would not burst, and do more mischief than a tea-kettle in the explosion, if you confined it so tight?”
Forester would willingly have stayed in the antechamber, to begin a critical dissection of this allusion; but Dr. Campbell carried him forwards into the supper-room. Flora had kept a seat for her father; and Henry met them at the door.