"Yes, sir, I was. I always am sober, sir."
"Then it is the wind that tints your proboscis that strawberry pink, is it?" said Moore. "Suppose you have a gentle breeze with me. I 've a new lot of sherry just sent me by Admiral Nelson. You must try it, Mr. Slink. Just a little puff of wind? A squall more or less won't affect the color of your nose."
"I 'll be delighted, sir," replied the cobbler, getting on his feet. "As I always says to Matilda--
"A little wine now and then
Is cheery for the soberest men."
"Ah," said Moore, "I see you are a student of the poets?"
"That verse is of my own decomposition," answered Mr. Slink proudly.
"I believe you," said Moore, suavely. "Your health, Mr. Slink, the health of Mrs. Slink, and all the little Slinkers!"
The cobbler emptied his glass and smacked his lips.
"We forgot to drink your own health, Mr. Moore. We must repair that oversight instanterly, if I may make so bold."
"I 'm flattered," replied Moore. "Buster, fill the glasses again."