Do you remember Jekyl?
Poor fellow, what a really good punster he was--not agreeable though--particularly at dinner--no punsters are.

Mr.Davison, what is that dish next to you ?" Mr.Davison was a great gourmand: "Salmi de perdreaux aux truffes," replied the political economist.
"Truffles!" said Wormwood, "have you been eating any ?" "Yes," said Davison, with unusual energy, "and they are the best I have tasted for a long time." "Very likely," said Wormwood, with a dejected air.

"I am particularly fond of them, but I dare not touch one--truffles are so very apoplectic--you, I make no doubt, may eat them in safety." Wormwood was a tall, meagre man, with a neck a yard long.

Davison was, as I have said, short and fat, and made without any apparent neck at all--only head and shoulders, like a cod-fish.
Poor Mr.Davison turned perfectly white; he fidgeted about in his chair; cast a look of the most deadly fear and aversion at the fatal dish he had been so attentive to before; and, muttering "apoplectic," closed his lips, and did not open them again all dinner-time.
Mr.Wormwood's object was effected.

Two people were silenced and uncomfortable, and a sort of mist hung over the spirits of the whole party.