"Who gave you the information?"
"O, I—I saw—rea—hea—heard my master Incholese talk about once when he wished to appear like a philosopher before some of his company."
"Who told him?"
"Who? Why I've heard him say a thousand times that he was a real Mimalone, whatever that is, and for years had slept on bindweed and practised the arts of a fellow they call Dic—Dip—Dith—Dithy"—
"Dithyrambus I suppose you mean."
"Aye, that's the fellow."
"A particular friend of mine, I dined with him twice, and the last time left him drunk under the table."
"His soul sprouted grapes I've heard, and was the first cause of vineyards being planted in Edge e—e—Edge"—
"Egypt you mean to say."
"Yes."