“Because the last oysters you know—”
“Oh, yis, ma'am—were bad, ma'am—bekase they had their mouths all open. I remember, ma'am; but when I'm towld a thing once, I never forget it again; and you towld me when they opened their mouths once they were no good. So you see, ma'am, I'll never bring up bad oysthers again, ma'am.”
“Very good, Andy; and you have kept them in a cool place, I hope.”
“Faix, they're cowld enough where I put them, ma'am.”
“Very well; bring them up at once.”
Off went Andy, and returned with all the haste he could with a large dish heaped up with oysters.
O'Grady rubbed his hands with the impatience of a true lover of the crustaceous delicacy, and Scatterbrain, eager to help him, flourished his oyster-knife; but before he had time to commence operations the olfactory nerves of the company gave evidence that the oysters were rather suspicious; every one began sniffing, and a universal “Oh dear!” ran round the table.
“Don't you smell it, Furlong?” said Scatterbrain, who was so lost in looking at Augusta's mustachios that he did not mind anything else.
“Isn't it horrid?” said O'Grady, with a look of disgust.
Furlong thought he alluded to the mustachio, and replied with an assurance that he “liked it of all things.”