Oliver ended by being sceptical whether a change of place, even if he could have answered for the weather, would have gained his end or proved acceptable to anybody save himself perhaps. That was after he had spoken on the rival merits of the old park and church before ’Mily Polley. ‘Oh! bother the place!’ cried ’Mily frankly; ‘who cares for the place? One is as good as another, and then there is the barn. I rather hope the rain will only stop off till we’ve got there, and after that come down in a pelt this year, so as to send us all in where we can eat comfortable, without old Bales’ (to wit the senior Mr. Dadd, with his rotund figure and his linendrapery business) ‘keeping us waiting till he has poked about and hunted out the least damp spot for his lumbago, and mother has made a fright of herself by tying her pocket-handkerchief round her throat to guard against a crick in the neck. And have you heard of young Scissors being so sharp as to secure ever so many of your band with their instruments, in case we should have nothing else to do but take a hop? I’m sure I don’t know that we could do anything better. Oh, I say, Mr. Oliver, I’ll tell you what is of a great deal more consequence than a park when we ain’t proposing to pick cowslips, or a church when none of us means to get married just at present. Will you see—a word at headquarters mayn’t be amiss—that Jim Hull of yours lets us have oyster and lobster patties this year instead of cherry pies? “I’m so partial,” as ’Liza says, I would give my ears for oyster patties. And oh! fancy Jack Dadd has got his father to fork out two bottles of sherry and two of champagne—the real, not the gooseberry thing, instead of the lemonade, which was all we used to have. I don’t care for sherry, but “I adore champagne,” that’s ’Liza again. I should like to swig it like beer—that’s me. But sha’n’t we have a guzzle?’ ’Mily called a spade a spade. Oliver was reminded of a market-day when he had seen a stout country lass gazing longingly into the window of the shop which Jim Hull had caused to be filled with tarts and cakes for the occasion. The rustic damsel had great difficulty in tearing herself away from the contemplation; as she did so she exclaimed with effusion to a companion, ‘I could eat the whole window full.’ Oliver sought to make atonement for his recoil from ’Mily’s speech, by honestly weighing the comparative demerits of what might be classed as gluttony and gourmandism. It was the fashion for some ‘great swells,’ as ’Mily would have called them, not only to indulge in the last, but to boast of the practice, and hold it up to admiration as an elegant accomplishment—an essential element of high civilisation. ‘Plain living and high thinking’ were exploded with them also. ‘If you will allow me,’ said Oliver meekly, ‘I’ll mix claret cup for you.’