"But my dear young friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, "you must be hungry,
you must be exhausted. Be seated. Here is a chicken had round from the
Boar, here is a tongue had round from the Boar, here's one or two little
things had round from the Boar, that I hope you may not despise. But do
I," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the moment after he had sat
down, "see afore me, him as I ever sported with in his times of happy
infancy? And may I--may I--?"
This May I, meant might he shake hands? I consented, and he was fervent,
and then sat down again.
"Here is wine," said Mr. Pumblechook. "Let us drink, Thanks to Fortune,
and may she ever pick out her favorites with equal judgment! And yet I
cannot," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again, "see afore me One--and
likewise drink to One--without again expressing--May I--may I--?"
I said he might, and he shook hands with me again, and emptied his glass
and turned it upside down. I did the same; and if I had turned myself
upside down before drinking, the wine could not have gone more direct to
my head.
Mr. Pumblechook helped me to the liver wing, and to the best slice of
tongue (none of those out-of-the-way No Thoroughfares of Pork now), and
took, comparatively speaking, no care of himself at all. "Ah! poultry,
poultry! You little thought," said Mr. Pumblechook, apostrophizing the
fowl in the dish, "when you was a young fledgling, what was in store for
you. You little thought you was to be refreshment beneath this humble
roof for one as--Call it a weakness, if you will," said Mr. Pumblechook,
getting up again, "but may I? may I--?"
It began to be unnecessary to repeat the form of saying he might, so
he did it at once. How he ever did it so often without wounding himself
with my knife, I don't know.
"And your sister," he resumed, after a little steady eating, "which had
the honor of bringing you up by hand! It's a sad picter, to reflect that
she's no longer equal to fully understanding the honor. May--"
I saw he was about to come at me again, and I stopped him.
"We'll drink her health," said I.
"Ah!" cried Mr. Pumblechook, leaning back in his chair, quite flaccid
with admiration, "that's the way you know 'em, sir!" (I don't know
who Sir was, but he certainly was not I, and there was no third person
present); "that's the way you know the noble-minded, sir! Ever forgiving
and ever affable. It might," said the servile Pumblechook, putting down
his untasted glass in a hurry and getting up again, "to a common person,
have the appearance of repeating--but may I--?"