swarink--up stares came Mr. Dick Blewitt. He flung opn Mr.
Dawkins's door, shouting out, "Daw my old buck, how are you?" when,
all of a sudden, he sees Mr. Deuceace: his jor dropt, he turned
chocky white, and then burnin red, and looked as if a stror would
knock him down. "My dear Mr. Blewitt," says my master, smilin and
offring his hand, "how glad I am to see you. Mr. Dawkins and I
were just talking about your pony! Pray sit down."

Blewitt did; and now was the question, who should sit the other
out; but law bless you! Mr. Blewitt was no match for my master: all
the time he was fidgetty, silent, and sulky; on the contry, master
was charmin. I never herd such a flo of conversatin, or so many
wittacisms as he uttered. At last, completely beat, Mr. Blewitt
took his leaf; that instant master followed him; and passin his arm
through that of Mr. Dick, led him into our chambers, and began
talkin to him in the most affabl and affeckshnat manner.

But Dick was too angry to listen; at last, when master was telling
him some long story about the Duke of Doncaster, Blewitt burst out--

A plague on the Duke of Doncaster! Come, come, Mr. Deuceace, don't
you be running your rigs upon me; I ain't the man to be bamboozl'd
by long-winded stories about dukes and duchesses. You think I
don't know you; every man knows you and your line of country. Yes,
you're after young Dawkins there, and think to pluck him; but you
shan't,--no, by ---- you shan't." (The reader must recklect that
the oaths which interspussed Mr. B.'s convysation I have left out.)
Well, after he'd fired a wolley of 'em, Mr. Deuceace spoke as cool
as possbill.