_Culch._ (_with dignity_). If you want to know, I am "corking down,"
to adopt your elegant expression, a sonnet that suggested itself to
me.

_Podb._ Much better cork that _up_, old chap--hadn't he, Miss TROTTER?

[_He glances at her for appreciation._

_Miss T._ That's so. I don't believe the poetic spirit has much
chance of slopping over so long as Mr. PODBURY is around. You have
considerable merit as a stopper, Mr. PODBURY.

_Podb._ I see; I'd better clear out till the poetry has all gurgled
out of him, eh? Is that the idea?

_Miss T._ If it is, it's your own, so I guess it's a pretty good one.

[_PODBURY shoulders off._

_Culch._ (_with his pathetic stop on_). I wish I had more of your
divine patience! Poor fellow, he is not without his good points; but I
do find him a thorn in my flesh occasionally, I'm afraid.

_Miss T._ Well, I don't know as a thorn in the flesh is any the
pleasanter for having a good point.

_Culch._ Profoundly true, indeed. I often think I could like him
better if there were less in him to like. I assure you he tries me so
at times that I could almost wish I was back at work in my department
at Somerset House!