"You honor me, sir," says Mr. BUMSTEAD, whose eyes are set, as though he
were in some kind of a fit, and who shakes hands excessively. "You are
a good man, sir. How do you do, sir? Shake hands again, sir. I am very
well, sir, I thank you. Your hand, sir. I'll stand by you, sir--though I
never spoke t' you b'fore in my life. Let us shake hands, sir."

But instead of waiting for this last shake, Mr. BUMSTEAD abruptly turns
away to the nearest chair, deposits his hat in the very middle of the
seat with great care, and recklessly sits down upon it.

The lemon tea in the bowl upon the table is a fruity compound,
consisting of two very thin slices of lemon, which are maintained in
horizontal positions, for the free action of the air upon their upper
surfaces, by a pint of whiskey procured for that purpose. About half a
pint of hot water has been added to help soften the rind of the lemon,
and a portion of sugar to correct its acidity.

With a wave of the hand toward this tropical preserve, Judge SWEENEY
says: "You have a reputation, sir, as a man of taste. Try some lemon
tea."

Energetically, if not frantically, his guest holds out a tumbler to be
filled, immediately after which he insists upon shaking hands again.
"You're a man of insight, sir," he says, working Judge SWEENEY back and
forth in his chair. "I _am_ a man of taste, sir, and you know the world,
sir."

"The _World_?" says Judge SWEENEY, complacently. "If you mean the
religious female daily paper of that name, I certainly do know it. I
used to take it for my late wife when she was trying to learn Latin."