“But so far as I can gather from what Mrs. Bunbury, who heard the comedy read, has told me, the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room is never actually narrated, but only hinted at,” said Gwyn. “That makes little matter, sir,” said Garrick. “The untold story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room will be more heartily laughed at during the next year or two than the best story of which every detail is given.” “At any rate, Colonel Gwyn,” said Mrs. Bunbury, “after the pains which Mr. Garrick has taken to acquaint you with the amplest particulars of the story you cannot in future profess to be unacquainted with it.” Colonel Gwyn looked puzzled. “I protest, madam,” said he, “that up to the present--ah! I fear that the very familiarity of Mr. Garrick with the story has caused him to be led to take too much for granted. I do not question the humour, mind you--I fancy that I am as quick as most men to see a joke, but----” This was too much for Bunbury and Burney. They both roared with laughter, which increased in volume as the puzzled look upon Colonel Gwyn's face was taken up by Garrick, as he glanced first at Burney and then at Little Comedy's husband. Poor Miss Reynolds, who could never quite make out what was going on around her in that strange household where she had been thrown by an ironical fate, looked gravely at the ultra-grave Garrick, and then smiled artificially at Dr. Burney with a view of assuring him that she understood perfectly how he came to be merry. “Colonel Gwyn,” said Garrick, “these gentlemen seem to have their own reasons for merriment, but I think you and I can better discriminate when to laugh and when to refrain from laughter. And yet--ah, I perceive they are recalling the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room, and that, sure enough, would convulse an Egyptian mummy or a statue of Nestor; and the funny part of the business is yet to come, for up to the present I don't believe that I told you that the man had actually been married for some years.” He laughed so heartily that Colonel Gwyn could not refrain from joining in, though his laughter was a good deal less hearty than that of any of the others who had enjoyed Garrick's whimsical fun. When the men were left alone at the table, there was some little embarrassment owing to the deficiency of glass, for Sir Joshua, who was hospitable to a fault, keeping an open house and dining his friends every evening, could never be persuaded to replace the glass which chanced to be broken. Garrick made an excuse of the shortness of port-glasses at his end of the table to move up beside Goldsmith, whom he cheered by telling him that he had already given a lesson to Woodward regarding the speaking of the prologue which he, Garrick, had written for the comedy. He said he believed Woodward would repeat the lines very effectively. When Goldsmith mentioned that Colman declined to have a single scene painted for the production, both Sir Joshua and Garrick were indignant.