It
does my art good.
"I'm in low sperits. A disagreeable insadent has just occurred. Lady
Pump, the banker's wife, asked me to dinner. I sat on her right, of
course, with an uncommon gal ner me, with whom I was getting on in
my fassanating way--full of lacy ally (as the Marquis says) and easy
plesntry. Old Pump, from the end of the table, asked me to drink
shampane; and on turning to tak the glass I saw Charles Wackles (with
womb I'd been imployed at Colonel Spurriers' house) grinning over his
shoulder at the butler.
"The beest reckonised me. Has I was putting on my palto in the hall, he
came up again: 'HOW DY DOO, Jeames?' says he, in a findish visper. 'Just
come out here, Chawles,' says I, 'I've a word for you, my old boy.' So
I beckoned him into Portland Place, with my pus in my hand, as if I was
going to give him a sovaring.
"'I think you said "Jeames," Chawles,' says I, 'and grind at me at
dinner?'
"'Why, sir.' says he, 'we're old friends, you know.'
"'Take that for old friendship then,' says I, and I gave him just one on
the noas, which sent him down on the pavemint as if he'd been shot.
And mounting myjesticly into my cabb, I left the rest of the grinning
scoundrills to pick him up, & droav to the Clubb."
"Have this day kimpleated a little efair with my friend George, Earl
Bareacres, which I trust will be to the advantidge both of self & that
noble gent.
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