Moore drew the chairs into position by the table as Bessie laid the plates.
"You are to sit there, you disreputable old Hibernian," said he, assisting Sheridan to a seat on the right.
"Your place is there at the end, Fashion Plate. I 'll preside just opposite you across the festive board, and Bessie shall sit on your left hand."
"Is she heavy?" inquired Sheridan, interestedly, as he sat down.
"I 'm speaking metaphorically," the poet rattled on. "How goes the play, Sherry?"
"'Pizarro' is certainly doing a fine business," replied the aged dramatist. "The public likes blood and thunder."
"I suppose you sent a box to the Dutchman that wrote it?" said Moore.
"On the contrary, Tommy, I think he should buy one to see how his play should have been written in the first place," replied Sheridan, not at all disconcerted, for he made no bones about admitting his indebtedness to Kotzebue for his last great success. "For my part, I 'm afraid Anacreon might not appreciate some of the Odes as now rendered according to the gospel of Thomas."
"Well, he was dead when I tackled him," retorted Moore.
"Which no doubt saved you from answering at the bar to the charge of manslaughter, for I 'm sure he 'd never have survived the heroic treatment you gave him."