Nicholas was the third in, or rather _out._ "It appears to me," observed he;--but what appeared is lost, as some new idea flitted across his imagination, and he commenced his second pipe without further remark.
Some ten minutes after this, Mr Spinney handed the pot of porter to the curate, and subsequently to the rest of the party.

They all took largely, then puffed away as before.
How long this cabinet-council might have continued, it is impossible to say; but "Silence," who was in "the chair," was soon afterwards driven from his post of honour by the most implacable of his enemies, a "woman's tongue." "Well, Mr Forster! well, gentlemen! do you mean to poison me?
Have you made smell and dirt enough?
How long is this to last, I should like to know ?" cried Mrs Forster, entering the room.

"I tell you what, Mr Forster, you had better hang up a sign at once, and keep an ale-house.
Let the sign be a Fool's Head, like your own.

I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself, Mr Curate; you that ought to set an example to your parishioners!" But Mr Dragwell did not admire such remonstrance; so taking his pipe out of his mouth, he retorted--"If your husband does put up a sign, I recommend him to stick you up as the 'Good Woman;' that would be without your head--Ha, ha, ha!" "He, he, he!" "He, he, he! you pitiful 'natomy," cried Mrs Forster, in a rage, turning to the clerk, as she dared not revenge herself upon the curate.

"Take that for your He, he, he!" and she swung round the empty pewter pot, which she snatched from the table, upon the bald pericranium of Mr Spinney, who tumbled off his chair, and rolled upon the sanded floor.
The remainder of the party were on their legs in an instant.