I felt in rare spirits the whole morning. The dun called about eleven. I had the boy Jake send the dun up. I was reading _Tristram Shandy_, and could not go down under the circumstances. The lean rascal (a lean farmer, too--think of that!) entered, and found me seated in an armchair, with my feet on the table, and the second bottle of brown stout handy, and the book under eye. ‘Sit down,’ said I; ‘I’ll finish this chapter, and then attend to you. Fine morning. Ha! ha!--this is a fine joke about my Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman! Ha! ha! ha! let me read this to you.’ ‘I have no time; I’ve got my noon _chores_ to do.’ ‘To the deuce with your _chores_!’ said I. ‘Don’t drop your old tobacco about here, or I’ll turn you out.’ ‘Sir!’ ‘Let me read you this about the Widow Wadman. Said the Widow Wadman----’ ‘There’s my bill, sir.’ ‘Very good. Just twist it up, will you; it’s about my smoking-time; and hand a coal, will you, from the hearth yonder!’ ‘My bill, sir!’ said the rascal, turning pale with rage and amazement at my unwonted air (formerly I had always dodged him with a pale face), but too prudent as yet to betray the extremity of his astonishment. ‘My bill, sir!’--and he stiffly poked it at me. ‘My friend,’ said I, ‘what a charming morning! How sweet the country looks! Pray, did you hear that extraordinary cock-crow this morning? Take a glass of my stout!’ ‘_Yours?_ First pay your debts before you offer folks your stout!’ ‘You think, then, that, properly speaking, I have no _stout_,’ said I, deliberately rising. ‘I’ll undeceive you. I’ll show you stout of a superior brand to Barclay and Perkins.’ Without more ado, I seized that insolent dun by the slack of his coat--(and, being a lean, shad-bellied wretch, there was plenty of slack to it)--I seized him that way, tied him with a sailor-knot, and thrusting his bill between his teeth, introduced him to the open country lying round about my place of abode. ‘Jake,’ said I, ‘you’ll find a sack of blue-nosed potatoes lying under the shed. Drag it here, and pelt this pauper away; he’s been begging pence of me, and I know he can work, but he’s lazy. Pelt him away, Jake!’ Bless my stars, what a crow! Shanghai sent up such a perfect pæan and _laudamus_--such a trumpet-blast of triumph, that my soul fairly snorted in me. Duns!--I could have fought an army of them! Plainly, Shanghai was of the opinion that duns only came into the world to be kicked, hanged, bruised, battered, choked, walloped, hammered, drowned, clubbed!