He managed to suppress the threatened explosion, however, and burst into a loud roar of laughter.
"'Pon me sowl!" he wheezed, poking the young man in the ribs with his stick, an implement which he had grasped a moment before as though he meditated putting it to a less pacific use, "you young divils of business-men are too much for poor old Tobias.

Ged, sir, to think of being stuck in the mud for the want of a paltry tenner! Tommy Heathcote will laugh when he hears of it.

You know Tommy of the 81st?
He gave me good advice: 'Always sew a fifty-pound note into the lining of each waistcoat you've got.

Then you can't go short.' Tried it once, and, be George! if me demned man-servant didn't stale that very waistcoat and sell it for six and sixpence.

You're not going, are you ?" "Yes; I'm due in the City.