Galloping Dick
wise out of keeping, but rather, if I am to believe them, of quite an elegant distinction. In truth, in my own little circle I am considered for something of a fine gentleman, and ’tis the fashion to aim at my precise girth.”
“A plague on you,” says I, laughing, “you round-bellied old hackney! You need rowels upon you for to keep you trotting, and a fortnight of Little-ease would best meet your case.”
“I may come to that,” says he placidly, “I may come to that, an’ I keep such company.”
It was a merry jest, and not for me to take offence at; indeed I liked him the better for his humour; and pretty soon we were seated in the tavern to ourselves, my lacemonger with a stiff brew of French brandy and me with a quartern of ripe ale. He pulled a sour face over his glass, for the liquor was not to his palate, but I jibed him on his dainty stomach.
“Faugh!” says I, “those light o’ loves spoil you. ’Tis well enough. I know the stuff, as like as not the best brandy ever fetched out of France under His Majesty’s nose. I would
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