remont
dinner, when a repeated rap, rap, rap at his door aroused him.

"What are you--at?" growls John.

"It's ma, zur?" says one of the Milesian servants.

"Blast yer hies, what want yer?" again growls John.

"If ye plaze, zur, there's a young man below wishes to see you," says
the servant.

"Ha, tell 'im to clear out!" John having predestinated the "young man,"
he gave an apoplectic snort, relapsed into his lethargy, and the servant
whirled down into the rotunda, and informed the "young man" what the
gentleman desired.

"He did, eh?" says the young man, who looked as if he might be a clerk
in an importing house. The young man left, in something of a high
dudgeon.

"What'r yer at now?" roared John Thomas, a second time, roused by the
servant's rat-tat-too.

"It's a gentleman wants to see yez's, zur."

"Tell him to go to the d--!" and John snored again.

"Is John in?" asks the gentleman, as the servant returns.

"Mister _Thomas_ did yez mane, zur?"

"No, yes, it is (looking at his tablets) same thing, I suppose; Thomas
Johns," says the gentleman.

"I belave it's right, zur," says the servant.

"Well, what did he say?"

"Faith, I think he's not in a good humor, betwane us, zur; he says yez
may go to the divil!"

"Did he? Well, that's polite, any how--invite a gentleman to dine with
him, and then meet him with such language as that. The infernal 'blue
nose,' I'll pull it, I'll tweak it until he'll roar like a calf!" and
off went "the gentleman," hot as No. 6.

"I belave he's not in, zur," says the same servant, answering another
inquiry for John Thomas, or Thomas Johns, the carriage driver was not
certain which.

"Oh, ho!" says the servant, "it's a ride ould John's going fur to take
till himself, and didn't want any callers." Reaching John's door, he
began his tattoo.

"Be hang'd to ye, what'r ye at now?" growls John, partly up and dressed.

"The carriage is here, zur."

"What carriage is that?" growls John, continuing his toilet.

"I don't know, zur; I'll go down and sae the _number_, if ye plaze."

"Thunder and tommy! What do I care for the number? Go tell the
carriage----"

"To go to the divil, zur?" says the servant, in anticipation of the
command.

"No, you bog-trotter, go tell the carriage to wait."

The servant went down, and John continued his toilet, muttering--

"Ah, some of their _haccommodations_, I expect; these American
landlords, as they style 'em in these infernal wild