Mr. Crotchet.—Your house would have been very safe, Doctor, if they had had no better science than the learned friend’s to work with.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—Well, sir, that may be. Excellent potted char. The Lord deliver me from the learned friend.
Mr. Crotchet.—Well, Doctor, for your comfort, here is a declaration of the learned friend’s that he will never take office.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—Then, sir, he will be in office next week. Peace be with him. Sugar and cream.
Mr. Crotchet.—But, Doctor, are you for Chainmail Hall on Christmas Day?
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—That am I, for there will be an excellent dinner, though, peradventure, grotesquely served.
Mr. Crotchet.—I have not seen my neighbour since he left us on the canal.
The Rev. Dr. Folliott.—He has married a wife, and brought her home.
Lady Clarinda.—Indeed! If she suits him, she must be an oddity: it will be amusing to see them together.
Lord Bossnowl.—Very amusing. He! He! Mr. Firedamp. Is there any water about Chainmail Hall?