h of the company. After five minutes of vigorous polyglot
profanity had somewhat relieved the feelings of the fallen
Elephantines, and they had recovered their feet, they contrived to sit
down; the chairs were as treacherous as ever, but being forewarned, the
members were forearmed, and by dint of many exertions, contrived to
maintain their seats with a tolerable show of dignity.

Johnny Cake was too far gone to make any intelligible replies, or give
any account of himself, and it was resolved to postpone his examination
until he should get sober. His companion, however, who seemed to be
something in the theatrical way, gave his own story in his own peculiar
manner, but refused to enlighten the anxious brotherhood about poor
Johnny.

He possessed a facility of quotation equal to Richard Swiveller, Esq.'s,
but he was as reckless about the exactitude of his extracts, and jumbled
up his authorities with as much confusion as Captain Cuttle himself. He
seldom gave a quotation right, but would break off in the middle and
substitute some words of his own, or dovetail an irrelevant piece from
some strange author, or mix up half-a dozen authors with interpolations
of his own, in an inextricable verbal jumble.

The Higholdboy and the stranger held the following conversation:

"What's your name?"

"Peter Knight; am a native to the marrow-bone.--That's Shakspeare."

"Young man, strange young man, young man to me unknown; young man of the
peculiar hat and ruby shirt, I fear to adapt my conversation to your
evident situation; that you're drunk, emphatically drunk, I repeat it,
drunk--drunk was my remark--D--Runk, drunk."

"It's true, 'tis pity; pity 'tis there isn't the devil a doubt of
it.--That's Scott."

"Where did you get your liquor?"

"Where the bee sucks, there sucks Peter Knight all day. Thou base,
inglorious slave, think'st thou I will reveal the noble name of him who
gave me wine? No, sir-ee, Bob.--That's Beaumont and Fletcher."

"Ante up or leave the board; that is to say fire away, let us know, we
won't tell. Although we never drink, we like to know where drink we
might get, in case of cholera, or colic."

"I do remember an apothecary and here-abouts he dwells; no he don't, he
lives over in the Bowery--but in his needy shop a cod-fish hangs, and on
his shelves a beggarly account of empty bottles; noting this penury to
myself, I said, if any man did need a brandy-punch, whose sale is fifty
dollars fine in Goth