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_From Mr. David Crimp to Montague Tigg_, _Esq._
The Golden Balls, May 28.
DEAR MR. TIGG,—You always _were_ full of your chaff, but you must have
been drinking when you wrote all that cock-and-a-bull gammon. Thirty
pounds! No; nor fifteen; nor as many pence. I never heard of the party
you mention by the name of the Count of Monte Cristo; and as for the
Prince, he’s as likely to be setting out for Boulogne with an eagle as
you are to start a monkey and a barrel-organ in Jericho; or may be
_that’s_ the likeliest of the two. So stow your gammon, and spare your
stamps, is my last word.—Yours respectfully to command,