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_"
The plate cleared, and washed down with a tumbler of port, Maxley
resumed, and informed the doctor that the mouse was at this moment in his
garden eating his bulbs. "And I be come here to put an end to her, if
I've any luck at all."
Sampson told him he needn't trouble. "Nature has put an end to her as
long as her body."
Mr. Maxley was puzzled for a moment, then opened his mouth from ear to
ear in a guffaw that made the glasses ring. His humour was perverse. He
was wit-proof and fun-proof; but at a feeble jest would sometimes roar
like a lion inflated with laughing-gas. Laughed he ever so loud and long,
he always ended abruptly and without gradation--his laugh was a clean
spadeful dug out of Merriment. He resumed his gravity and his theme all
in an instant. "White arsenic she won't look at for I've tried her; but
they tell me there's another sweetmeat come up, which they call it striek
nine"
"Hets! let the poor beasty alone. Life's as sweet tit as tus."
"If _you_ was a gardener, you'd feel for the bulbs, not for the varmin,"
remonstrated Maxley rather arrogantly.


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