“ My soul is—hiccup!—peculiarly qualified for—hiccup!—a—”
“What, sir?”
“Stew.”
“Ha!”
“Soufflée.”
“Eh!”
“Fricassée.”
“Indeed!”
“Ragout and fricandeau—and see here, my good fellow! I’ll let you have it—hiccup!—a bargain.” Here the philosopher slapped his Majesty upon the back.
“Couldn’t think of such a thing,” said the latter calmly, at the same time rising from his seat. The metaphysician stared.
“Am supplied at present,” said his Majesty.
“Hiccup!—e-h?” said the philosopher.
“Have no funds on hand.”
“What?”
“Besides, very unhandsome in me—”
“Sir!”
“To take advantage of—”
“Hiccup!”