‘Well, and how often have you been flogged this half?’ asked she again, not getting an answer to her first enquiry.

‘Not at all,’ growled Cheek, reddening up.

‘Oh, flogged!’ exclaimed Miss Glitters. ‘You wouldn’t have a young man like him flogged; it’s only the little boys that get that -- is it, Mister Cheek?’

‘To be sure not,’ assented the youth.

‘Mister Cheek’s a man,’ observed Miss Glitters, eyeing him archly as he sat stuffing his mouth with currant- loaf plentifully besmeared with raspberry jam. ‘He’ll be wanting a wife soon,’ added she, smiling across the table at Captain Seedeybuck.

‘I question but he’s got one,’ observed the captain.

‘No, ar haven’t,’ replied Cheek, pleased at the imputation.

‘Then there’s a chance for you, Miss G.,’ retorted the captain.

‘Mrs George Cheek would look well on a glazed card with gilt edges.’

‘What a cub!’ exclaimed Miss Howard, in disgust.

‘You’re another,’ replied Master Cheek, amidst a roar of laughter from the party.

‘Well, but you ask your master if you mayn’t have a wife next half, and we’ll see if we can’t arrange matters,’ observed Miss Glitters.

‘Noo, ar sharnt!,’ replied George, stuffing his mouth full of preserved apricot.

‘Why not?’ asked Miss Howard.

‘Because -- because -- ar’ll have somethin’ younger,’ replied George.

‘Bravo, young Chesterfield!’ exclaimed Miss Howard; adding, ‘what it is to be thick with Lord John Manners!’

‘Ar’m not,’ growled the boy, amidst the mirth of the company.

‘Well, but what must we do with these little (hiccup)?’ asked Sir Harry, at last rising from the breakfast table, and looking listlessly round the company for an answer.

‘O! liquor them well, and send them home to their mammas,’ suggested Captain Bouncey, who was all for the drink.

‘But they won’t take their (hiccup),’ replied Sir Harry, holding up a Curaçoa bottle to show how little had disappeared.

‘Try them with cherry brandy,’ suggested Captain Seedeybuck; adding, ‘it’s sweeter. Now, young man,’ continued he, addressing George Cheek, as he poured him out a wine-glassful, ‘this is the real Daffy’s elixir that you read of in the papers. It’s the finest compound that ever was known. It will make your hair curl, your whiskers grow, and you a man before your mother.’

‘No-o-a, n-o-ar, don’t want any more,’ growled the young gentleman, turning away in disgust. ‘Ar won’t drink any more.’

‘Well, but be sociable,’ observed Miss Howard, helping herself to a glass.

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