I can’t conceive why Lovelet teased that fool Sop-query, or whatever his name is, to plague us with his long-winded letter. Lord, Sir, if we wanted answers in our Club, some of us must sit still half the evening to listen to the others, which would be folly indeed. Ours is the Query Club, I beg you to know. Take an example:
I meet a member in the street; I say, perhaps after this sort:
“Ah Jack! You look ill. How d’ye do?”
“Where art going in such haste?”
“Egad, my boy, you got into a fine scrape last night, didn’t you?”
“Where does your hatter live? I really admire the cut of the brim.”
“Been to hear the new lecturer yet?”
“Can’st tell the difference between plum-bago and bago-plum? Ha! ha! ha!”
Between each of my queries my companion (who is not such a fool as to think of noticing them) says, perhaps,
“What’s o’clock? Shall be too late.”
“Just been cheated by hackney coach man. Wilt thou come with me to Summons the fellow?”
“Prithee tell me, where the great corn-cutter lives? Have got a sore toe.”
“Wish thou could’st get me an opera ticket for tonight. Will’t try?”
“If two feathers — of equal weight and size be blown into the air together, which will fly highest?”
With this, we shake hands and part.
I am Mr. Ed.
your Hon. Serv.
(P.S. No answer required)