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All I
could get from her," added he, turning suddenly from gratitude to
revenge, "was that he was no greater a puppy than yourself, doctor."
"Oh, Alfred, no; I only said no vainer," cried Julia in dismay.
"Well, it is true," said Sampson contentedly, and proceeded to dissect
himself just as he would a stranger. "I am a vain man; a remarkably vain
man. But then I'm a man of great mirit."
"All vain people are that," suggested Alfred dryly.
"Who should know better than you, young Oxford? Y' have got a hidache."
"No, indeed."
"Don't tell lies now. Ye can't deceive me; man, I've an eye like a hawk.
And what's that ye're studying with her? Ovid, for a pound."
"No; medicine; a treatise on your favourite organ, the brain, by one Dr.
Whately."
"He is chaffing you, doctor," said Edward; "it is logic. He is coaching
her; and then she will coach me."
"Then I forbid the chaff-cutting, young Pidant. Logic is an ill plaster
to a sore head."
"Oh, 'the labour we delight in, physics pain.'"
"Jinnyus, Jinnyus;
Take care o' your carkuss,"
retorted the master of doggrel.


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