You're a lucky fellow, I think.

She looks a jolly sort of girl." "Lucky! Jolly! Oh, Cruden," ejaculated his depressed friend.
"Why, what's wrong ?" said Horace.

"Don't you think she's nice ?" "She is; but Shuckleford, Cruden, is not." "Hullo, you two," said the voice of the gentleman in question at this moment; "you seem jolly thick.

Oh, of course, shopmates; I forgot; both in the news line.

Eh?
Now, who's for musical chairs?
Don't all speak at once." "I shall have to play the piano now, Mr Reginald," said Miss Jemima, making a last effort to get a word out of her silent companion.