"Imported direck," adds my uncle, "from Lon'on."
My tooter? It sounded musical: I wondered what the young man blew--but
shook hands, in the Chesterfieldian manner (as best I had mastered
it), and expressed myself (in such Chesterfieldian language as I could
recall in that emergency) as being delighted to form an acquaintance
so distinguished.
"Well done!" cries my uncle, past containing his pride in the
Chesterfieldian achievement. "Sir Harry hisself couldn't beat it!"
The young man laughed pleasantly.
X