"St. John," interrupted Fielding, cutting me off in the beginning of a witticism, "St. John, famous fellow, is he not? By the Lord, we will drink to his administration, you in chocolate, I in Madeira. O'Carroll, you dog,--O'Carroll--rogue--rascal--ass--dolt!" "The same, your honour," said the orange-coloured lacquey, thrusting in his lean visage. "Ay, the same indeed, thou anatomized son of Saint Patrick; why dost thou not get fat? Thou shamest my good living, and thy belly is a rascally minister to thee, devouring all things for itself, without fattening a single member of the body corporate. Look at /me/, you dog, am /I/ thin? Go and get fat, or I will discharge thee: by the Lord I will! the sun shines through thee like an empty wineglass." "And is it upon your honour's lavings you would have me get fat?" rejoined Mr. O'Carroll, with an air of deferential inquiry. "Now, as I live, thou art the impudentest varlet!" cried Mr. Fielding, stamping his foot on the floor, with an angry frown. "And is it for talking of your honour's lavings? an' sure that's /nothing/ at all, at all," said the valet, twirling his thumbs with expostulating innocence. "Begone, rascal!" said Mr. Fielding, "begone; go to the Salop, and bring us a pint of Madeira, a toast, and a dish of chocolate." "Yes, your honour, in a twinkling," said the valet, disappearing. "A sorry fellow," said Mr. Fielding, "but honest and faithful, and loves me as well as a saint loves gold; 'tis his love makes him familiar." Here the door was again opened, and the sharp face of Mr. O'Carroll again intruded. "How now, sirrah!" exclaimed his master. Mr. O'Carroll, without answering by voice, gave a grotesque sort of signal between a wink and a beckon. Mr. Fielding rose muttering an oath, and underwent a whisper. "By the Lord," cried he, seemingly in a furious passion, "and thou hast not got the bill cashed yet, though I told thee twice to have it done last evening? Have I not my debts of honour to discharge, and did I not give the last guinea I had about me for a walking cane yesterday? Go down to the city immediately, sirrah, and bring me the change." The valet again whispered. "Ah," resumed Fielding, "ah--so far, you say, 'tis true; 'tis a great way, and perhaps the Count can't wait till you return. Prithee (turning to me), prithee now, is it not vexatious,--no change about me, and my fool has not cashed a trifling bill I have, for a thousand or so, on Messrs. Child! and the cursed Salop puts not its /trust/ even in princes; 'tis its way; 'Gad now, you have not a guinea about you?" What could I say? My guinea joined Tarleton's, in a visit to that bourne whence no /such/ traveller e'er returned.