Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. Now, you and I can gossip at a gate, and Honi soit qui mal y pense.
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