Clifford.—Aye, that’s right; something to wash the dust out of the serjeant’s throat would considerably improve his voice. What say you to my prescription, Archy?
Serjeant.—Troth, sir, you’re an excellent doctor. Well, here’s wishing all your good healths, gentlemen!
Author.—By the way, Clifford, how many trouts have you caught?
Clifford.—None of your jokes, my good friend. Why, you know very well that I have never made a single cast. Before I had time to give one throw over the stream, Archy hooked me here with the thread of his discourse, and here he has been reeling me out such a line, that I can plainly see it will be some time ere he can wind it up again so as to land me. Fish!—no, no, I may as well put up my rod at once, that we may all hear his Legend quietly to an end.
Author.—I think so, indeed.
Grant.—Well Archy, when you think that your Patrick Stewart and his party have had their luncheon, and that you have satisfied your own hunger and thirst, we shall all be ready to listen to you.
Serjeant.—I am well served now, sir, and quite ready to proceed.
Clifford.—Spin away then, my gay fellow.