"Talking about the Ogre--" began the Viscount.
"You mean--Jasper Gaunt?" Barnabas inquired.
"Precisely, dear fellow, and, talking of him, did you happen to
notice a--fellow, hanging about downstairs,--a bristly being with
one eye, Bev?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Ha!" said the Viscount nodding, "and talking of him, brings me back
to my Honored Roman--thus, Bev. Chancing to find myself
in--ha--hum--a little difficulty, a--let us say--financial tightness,
Bev. I immediately thought of my father, which,--under the
circumstances was, I think, very natural--and filial, my dear fellow.
I said to myself, here is a man, the author of my being, who, though
confoundedly Roman, is still my father, and, as such, owes certain
duties to his son, sacred duties, Bev, not to be lightly esteemed,
blinked, or set aside,--eh, Bev?"
"Undoubtedly!" said Barnabas.
"I, therefore, ventured to send him a letter, post-haste, gently
reminding him of those same duties, and acquainting him with
my--ah--needy situation,--which was also very natural, I think."
"Certainly!" said Barnabas, smiling.
"But--would you believe it, my dear fellow, he wrote, or rather,
indited me an epistle, or, I should say, indictment, in his most
Roman manner which--but egad! I'll read it to you, I have it here
somewhere.
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