At a dinner given by my Lord Broadacres to some of his tenants, curaçoa is handed in a liqueur-glass to old Turnitops, who, swallowing it with much relish, says—"Oi zay, young man! Oi'll tak zum o' that in a moog!"
PRICE FOR AGE
Mr. Green. "You needn't be afraid of that glass of wine, uncle. It's thirty-four port, you know."
Uncle. "Thirty-four port!—Thirty-four fiddlesticks! It's no more thirty-four port than you are!"
Mr. Green. "It is I can assure you! Indeed, it's really thirty-six; and thirty-four if you return the bottles!"