Yet I had merely echoed the poet's words in calling for a pint and chop, so after all the poet was to blame for both mistakes.

But perhaps he meant that I should drink sherry at his house, and when he advised me to call for a pint, he meant a pint of sherry.

But the maid had said he kept a pot-house, and no pot-houses have wine-licences; but the maid after all might be an envious baggage, and no better than she should be.

But what was now to be done?
Why, clearly make the best of the matter, eat the chop and leave the sherry.

So I commenced eating the chop, which was by this time nearly cold.