“’Cynical man called Mandeville—said he was a silent parson in a tie-wig.”
“Right-ho! I’ll take the silent parson with wig and ’purtenances. Taffy can have the dyin’ Christian,” Stalky decided.
Howell nodded, and resumed: “What about Swift, Beetle?”
“’Died mad. Two girls. Saw a tree, an’ said: ‘I shall die at the top.’ Oh yes, an’ his private amusements were ‘ridiculous an’ trivial.’”
Howell shook a wary head. “Dunno what that might let me in for with King. You can have it, Stalky.”
“I’ll take that,” McTurk yawned. “King doesn’t matter a curse to me, an’ he knows it. ‘Private amusements contemptible.’” He breathed all Ireland into the last perverted word.
“Right,” Howell assented. “Bags I the dyin’ tree, then.”
“’Cheery lot, these Augustans,” Stalky sighed. “’Any more of ’em been croakin’ lately, Beetle?”
“My Hat!” the far-seeing Howell struck in. “King always gives us a stinker half-way down. What about Richardson—that ‘Clarissa’ chap, y’know?”
“I’ve found out lots about him,” said Beetle, promptly.