Mr Briggs then, with much derision, and sundry distortions of countenance, listened to an Italian song; after which, he bustled back to the outer apartment, in search of Cecilia, who, ashamed of seeming a party in the disturbance he had excited, had taken the opportunity of his dispute with the Captain, to run into the next room; where, however, he presently found her, while she was giving an account to Mr Gosport of her connection with him, to which Morrice, ever curious and eager to know what was going forward, was also listening. “Ah, little chick!” cried he, “got to you again! soon out jostle those jemmy sparks! But where's the supper? see nothing of the supper! Time to go to bed,--suppose there is none; all a take in; nothing but a little piping.” “Supper, Sir?” cried Cecilia; “the Concert is not over yet. Was supper mentioned in your card of invitation?” “Ay, to be sure, should not have come else. Don't visit often; always costs money. Wish I had not come now; wore a hole in my shoe; hardly a crack in it before.” “Why you did not walk, Sir?” “Did, did; why not? Might as well have stayed away though; daubed my best coat, like to have spoilt it.” “So much the better for the taylors, Sir,” said Morrice, pertly, “for then you must have another.” “Another! what for? ha'n't had this seven years; just as good as new.” “I hope,” said Cecilia, “you had not another fall?” “Worse, worse; like to have lost my bundle.” “What bundle, Sir?” “Best coat and waistcoat; brought 'em in my handkerchief, purpose to save them. When will Master Harrel do as much?” “But had you no apprehensions, Sir,” said Mr Gosport drily, “that the handkerchief would be the sooner worn out for having a knot tied in it?” “Took care of that, tied it slack. Met an unlucky boy; little dog gave it a pluck; knot slipt; coat and waistcoat popt out.” “But what became of the boy, Sir?” cried Morrice, “I hope he got off?” “Could not run for laughing; caught him in a minute; gave him something to laugh for; drubbed him soundly.” “O poor fellow!” cried Morrice with a loud hallow, “I am really sorry for him. But pray, Sir, what became of your best coat and waistcoat while you gave him this drubbing? did you leave them in the dirt?” “No, Mr Nincompoop,” answered Briggs angrily, “I put them on a stall.” “That was a perilous expedient, Sir,” said Mr Gosport, “and I should fear might be attended with ill consequences, for the owner of the stall would be apt to expect some little douçeur. How did you manage, Sir?” “Bought a halfpenny worth of apples. Serve for supper to-morrow night.” “But how, Sir, did you get your cloaths dried, or cleaned?” “Went to an alehouse; cost me half a pint.” “And pray, Sir,” cried Morrice, “where, at last, did you make your toilette?” “Sha'n't tell, sha'n't tell; ask no more questions. What signifies where a man slips on a coat and waist-coat?”