“Ha! ha! Good that. 'Stands on his deliverance.' So he does.” This from Round.
“Now, gents, you shall well and truly try; eh, Round, my boy?”
“Certainly,” said the usher. “'Well and truly try! Well said Jemmy. Good. Well and truly try. And true deliverance make.'”
Whether the result of this combination of forces, backed up as it was by the majesty of the Law, would have had the desired effect is uncertain, for at that moment Johnny Pounce entered the room as pale as a ghost.
“We're very glad you've come, Mr. Pounce,” said Mrs. Feather, “young John is quite refractory; he won't sing, do what we can. Why, dear me, Mr. Pounce, what on earth's the matter?”
“There must be no more singing to-night; an awful thing has happened. Mr. Pintle fell down dead half-an-hour ago.”
And Johnny Pounce dropped into his chair, and covered his face with his hands.
“Good God, Johnny! Dead!” said Mrs. Pounce; “Mr. Pintle dead!”
“Yes, dead; and me drinking his health not ten minutes since. Old friends, you'll forgive me, I know; but I'm afraid we must break up; it's an awful thing.”
“And you a-drinking of his health!” reflected the toast-master, with an air which suggested that he regretted the circumstance as having a tendency to lessen the general belief in the efficacy of toasts, and, indirectly, in his professional importance.
