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"Roast fowl for your dinner, I suppose. You ain't got married? They said you was married the Scotch surgeon of yours was here. No, it was Captain Humby of the thirty-third, as was quartered with the th in Injee. Like any warm water? What do you come in a chay for ain't the coach good enough?"
"Mr Button," said Emmeline, nodding towards the sun as he vanished, "where's over there?" "The west," replied he, staring at the sunset. "Chainy and Injee and all away beyant." "Where's the sun gone to now, Paddy?" asked Dick. "He's gone chasin' the moon, an' she's skedadlin' wid her dress brailed up for all she's worth; she'll be along up in a minit.
"Not in the Injee business, then, or the monsoons would keep the stun'sails set, at least." "No, sir. But yonder is Mr. Moccasin, who has lately set up, secundum artem, in the Indian business, having written two novels in that way already, and begun a third." "Are you all regularly employed, gentlemen?" "As regularly as inspiration points," said Mr. Pith.
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