An imperial quart and a half of Mr. Creed's stoutest draft port, with
the orthodox proportion of lemon, cloves, sugar, and cinnamon, had
almost boiled itself to perfection under the skilful superintendence of
Mr. Jorrocks, on the coffee-room fire, and a table had been handsomely
decorated with shrimps, lobsters, broiled bones, fried ham, poached
eggs, when just as the clock had finished striking eleven, the
coffee-room door opened with a rush, and in tripped Jemmy Green with his
hands crammed full of packages, and his trousers' pockets sticking out
like a Dutch burgomaster's. "Vell, I've done 'em brown to-night, I
think," said he, depositing his hat and half a dozen packages on the
sideboard, and running his fingers through his curls to make them stand
up. "I've won nine lotteries, and left one undrawn when I came away,
because it did not seem likely to fill. Let me see," said he, emptying
his pockets,--"there is the beautiful rosewood box that I won, ven you
was there; the next was a set of crimping-irons, vich I von also; the
third was a jockey-vip, which I did not want and only stood one ticket
for and lost; the fourth was this elegant box, with a view of Margate on
the lid; then came these six sherry labels with silver rims; a snuff-box
with an inwisible mouse; a coral rattle with silver bells; a silk
yard measure in a walnut-shell; a couple of West India beetles; a
humming-bird in a glass case, which I lost; and then these dozen bodkins
with silver eyes--so that altogether I have made a pretty good night's
work of it. Kitey Graves wasn't in great force, so after I had sung _Bid
me Discourse_, and _I'd be a Butterfly_, I cut my stick and went to the
hopposition shop, where they used me much more genteelly; giving me
three tickets for a song, and introducing me in more flattering terms to
the company--don't like being considered one of the nasty 'reglars,' and
they should make a point of explaining that one isn't. Besides, what
business had Kitey to say anything about Bagnigge Vells? a hass!--Now,