There was lights already in the room; an empty shampang bottle roalin on the floar, another on the table; near which the sofy was drawn, and on it lay a stout old genlmn, smoaking seagars as if he'd bean in an inn tap-room.
Deuceace (who abommunates seagars, as I've already shown) bust into a furious raige against the genlmn, whom he could hardly see for the smoak; and, with a number of oaves quite unnecessary to repeat, asked him what bisniss he'd there.
The smoaking chap rose, and, laying down his seagar, began a ror of laffin, and said, "What! Algy my boy! don't you know me ?" The reader may praps recklect a very affecting letter which was published in the last chapter of these memoars; in which the writer requested a loan of five hundred pound from Mr.Algernon Deuceace, and which boar the respected signatur of the Earl of Crabs, Mr.Deuceace's own father.

It was that distinguished arastycrat who was now smokin and laffin in our room.
My Lord Crabs was, as I preshumed, about 60 years old.

A stowt, burly, red-faced, bald-headed nobleman, whose nose seemed blushing at what his mouth was continually swallowing; whose hand, praps, trembled a little; and whose thy and legg was not quite so full or as steddy as they had been in former days.

But he was a respecktabble, fine-looking old nobleman; and though it must be confest, 1/2 drunk when we fust made our appearance in the salong, yet by no means moor so than a reel noblemin ought to be.
"What, Algy my boy!" shouts out his lordship, advancing and seasing master by the hand, "doan't you know your own father ?" Master seemed anythink but overhappy.

"My lord," says he, looking very pail, and speakin rayther slow, "I didn't--I confess--the unexpected pleasure--of seeing you in Paris.