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Puffington, sir, is very poorly, sir, and
I thought p'raps you'd be dining out.
'Poorly is he?' replied Mr. Sponge; 'sorry to hear that--what's the matter
with him?'
'Bad bilious attack, I think,' replied Plummey--'very subject to them, at
this time of year particklarly; was laid up, at least confined to his room,
three weeks last year of a similar attack.'
'Indeed!' replied Mr. Sponge, not relishing the information.
'Then I must say you'll dine here?' said the butler.
'Yes; I must have my dinner, of course,' replied Mr. Sponge. 'I'm not ill,
you know. No occasion to make a great spread for me, you know; but still I
must have some victuals, you know.'
'Certainly, sir, certainly,' replied Mr. Plummey.
'I couldn't think of leaving Mr. Puffington when he's poorly,' observed Mr.
Sponge, half to himself and half to the butler.
'Oh, master--that's to say, Mr. Puffington--always does best when left
alone,' observed Mr. Plummey, catching at the sentence: 'indeed the medical
men recommend perfect quiet and moderate living as the best thing.


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