No man, conversant with the species to which he belonged, could have taken him for anything but what he was.
As he entered the room, a faint, sickly, second-hand smell of alcohol pervaded the atmosphere.
'Well, Manylodes,' said Scott, 'I'm glad to see you again.

This is my friend, Mr.Tudor.' 'Your servant, sir,' said Manylodes, just touching his hat, without moving it from his head.

'And how are you, Mr.Scott?
I am glad to see you again in these parts, sir.' 'And how's trade?
Come, Tudor, what will you drink?
Manylodes, I know, takes brandy; their sherry is vile, and their claret worse; maybe they may have a fairish glass of port.

And how is trade, Manylodes ?' 'We're all as brisk as bees at present.

I never knew things sharper.