“Pooh! pooh!” said the diminutive doubter.
“It's true,” said the narrator.
“I make no doubt of it, sir,” said Murphy; “I know a more extraordinary case of recovery myself.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the cit; “I have not finished my story yet, for the most extraordinary part of the story remains to be told; my friend, sir, was a very sickly man before the accident happened—a very sickly man, and after that accident he became a hale healthy man. What do you think of that, sir?”
“It does not surprise me in the least, sir,” said Murphy; “I can account for it readily.”
“Well, sir, I never heard It accounted for, though I know it to be true; I should like to hear how you account for it?”
“Very simply, sir,” said Murphy; “don't you perceive the man discovered a mine of health by a shaft being sunk in the pit of his stomach?”
Murphy's punning solution of the cause of cure was merrily received by the company, whose critical taste was not of that affected nature which despises jeu de mots, and will not be satisfied under a jeu d'esprit; the little doubting man alone refused to be pleased.
“I doubt the value of a pun always, sir. Dr. Johnson said, sir—”
“I know,” said Murphy; “that the man who would make a pun would pick a pocket; that's old, sir,—but is dearly remembered by all those who cannot make puns themselves.”