'
'Thank'ee, again. A fine choice of amusements, I vow,' cried the jolly
doctor.
'There, don't mind me, nor all I say, Toole. I'm, I suppose, in the
vapours; but, truly, I'm glad to see you, and I thank you, indeed I do,
heartily, for your obliging visit; 'tis very neighbourly. But, hang it,
I'm weary of the time--the world is a dull place. I'm tired of this
planet, and should not mind cutting my throat and trying a new star.
Suppose we make the journey together, Toole; there is a brace of pistols
over the chimney, and a fair wind for some of them.'
'Rather too much of a gale for my taste, thanking you again,' answered
Toole with a cosy chuckle; 'but, if _you're_ bent on the trip, and can't
wait, why, at least, let's have a glass together before parting.'
'With all my heart, what you will. Shall it be punch?'
'Punch be it. Come, hang saving; get us up a ha'porth of whiskey,' said
little Toole, gaily.
'Hallo, Mrs. Irons, Madam, will you do us the favour to make a bowl of
punch as soon as may be?' cried Devereux, over the banister.
'Come, Toole,' said Devereux, 'I'm very dismal. Losses and crosses, and
deuce knows what.
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