"Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. She hated the manor. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG.
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