He came home again worse than ever, and consulted poor Me.

I found him at dinner--a perfect feast, I give you my word of honour!--and the old fool gorging himself till he was black in the face.

His wine, I should have said, was not up to the mark; wanted body and flavour, you know.
Ah, Mr.Mountjoy, this seems to interest you; reminds you of the landlady's wine--eh?
Well, sir, how do you think I treated the Squire?
Emptied his infirm old inside with an emetic--and there he was on his legs again.

Whenever he overeats himself he sends for me; and pays liberally.

I ought to be grateful to him, and I am.