Grant assented, and, entering the manse accordingly, we remained talking very agreeably there, until the whistling of Clifford, as he marched up the street with his rod in his hand, and his fishing pannier on his back, made us suddenly terminate our interesting colloquy, in order to run after him. As we got into the inn we found him in the act of admiring his trouts, which filled a large trencher.
Clifford.—See what noble fellows! There is one of three pounds and a half if he is an ounce. I hooked him in the pool above the broken bridge, and I called to you as you were going up the hill to come back and witness the sport he yielded; but you were too intent on your own conversation to hear me, and so you lost it all. What were you talking about?
Grant.—Geology.
Clifford.—Geology!—fiddlesticks. By all that is good, you deserve to dine upon fossil fishes.
Author (to the landlady).—Well, ma’am, I hope you can give us something good for dinner.
Landlady.—We shall see, sir; we’ll do the best we can.
Author.—You will at least be able to give us an omelet, after the instructions I gave you when I was last in your house.
Landlady.—That I can; I made one for the Duke when he was up here at the fowling, and he said that it was just famous.
Clifford.—Can you give us any soup?
Landlady.—Na, sir; I’m dootin’ that I hae na time for that.