' Jawleyford sank
where he got it, and pretended that it had been 'ages' in his cellar: 'he
really had such a stock that he thought he should never get through it'--to
wit, two dozen old port at 36_s._ a dozen, and one dozen at 48_s._; two
dozen pale sherry at 36_s._, and one dozen brown ditto at 48_s._; three
bottles of Bucellas, of the 'finest quality imported,' at 38_s._ a dozen;
Lisbon 'rich and dry,' at 32_s._; and some marvellous creaming champagne at
48_s._, in which they were indulging when he made the declaration: 'don't
wait of me, my dear Mr. Sponge!' exclaimed Jawleyford, holding up a long
needle-case of a glass with the Jawleyford crests emblazoned about; 'don't
wait of me, pray,' repeated he, as Spigot finished dribbling the froth into
Sponge's glass; and Jawleyford, with a flourishing bow and waive of his
empty needle-case, drank Mr. Sponge's very good health, adding, 'I'm
_extremely_ happy to see you at Jawleyford Court.'
It was then Jawleyford's turn to have a little froth; and having sucked it
up with the air of a man drinking nectar, he set down his glass with a
shake of the head, saying:
'There's no such wine as that to be got now-a-days.
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