s coming
down King William Street, where he stabled his horse, you know, and I met
him. He'd been dining out-somewhere out over Fallow field, I think it
was; and he sings out to me, "Ah! Kilne, my good fellow!" and I, wishing
to be equal with him, says, "A fine night, my lord!" and he draws himself
up--he smelt of good company--says he, "Kilne! I'm not a lord, as you
know, and you have no excuse for mistaking me for one, sir!" So I
pretended I had mistaken him, and then he tucked his arm under mine, and
said, "You're no worse than your betters, Kilne. They took me for one at
Squire Uplift's to-night, but a man who wishes to pass off for more than
he is, Kilne, and impose upon people," he says, "he's contemptible,
Kilne! contemptible!" So that, you know, set me thinking about "Bath" and
the "Marquis," and I couldn't help smiling to myself, and just let slip a
question whether he had enlightened them a bit. "Kilne," said he, "you're
an honest man, and a neighbour, and I'll tell you what happened. The
Squire," he says, "likes my company, and I like his table. Now the Squire
'd never do a dirty action, but the Squire's nephew, Mr. George Uplift,
he can't forget that I earn my money, and once or twice I have had to
correct him." And I'll wager Mel did it, too! Well, he goes on: "There
was Admiral Sir Jackson Racial and his lady, at dinner, Squire Falco of
Bursted, Lady Barrington, Admiral Combleman--our admiral, that was; 'Mr.
This and That', I forget their names--and other ladies and gentlemen
whose acquaintance I was not honoured with." You know his way of talking.
"And there was a goose on the table," he says; and, looking stern at me,
"Don't laugh yet!" says he, like thunder. "Well, he goes on: Mr. George
caught my eye across the table, and said, so as not to be heard by his
uncle, 'If that bird was rampant, you would see your own arms, Marquis.'"
And Mel replied, quietly for him to hear, 'And as that bird is couchant,
Mr. George, you had better look to your sauce.' Couchant means squatting,
you know. That's heraldry! Well, that wasn't bad sparring of Mel's. But,
bless you! he was never taken aback, and the gentlefolks was glad enough
to get him to sit down amongst 'em. So, says Mr. George, 'I know you're a
fire-eater, Marquis,' and his dander was up, for he began marquising Mel,
and doing the mock polite at such a rate, that, by-and-by, one of the
ladies who didn't know Mel called him 'my lord' and 'his lordship.'
"And,"