'Now I'm going to take this chair with my back to the fire--there's been a strong frost these two last nights, and I can't get it out of my bones; the celery will be just the ticket--I'm going to sit here, and you are going to stand there, Morris Finsbury, and play butler.' 'But, Johnny, I'm so hungry myself,' pleaded Morris.
'You can have what I leave,' said Vance.

'You're just beginning to pay your score, my daisy; I owe you one-pound-ten; don't you rouse the British lion!' There was something indescribably menacing in the face and voice of the Great Vance as he uttered these words, at which the soul of Morris withered.

'There!' resumed the feaster, 'give us a glass of the fizz to start with.

Gravy soup! And I thought I didn't like gravy soup! Do you know how I got here ?' he asked, with another explosion of wrath.
'No, Johnny; how could I ?' said the obsequious Morris.
'I walked on my ten toes!' cried John; 'tramped the whole way from Browndean; and begged! I would like to see you beg.

It's not so easy as you might suppose.