The rest fell
into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house; and
dinner was done full justice to, by all parties.
It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could produce.
The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Everything was
elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas was in the midst of
a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his host disturbed
him.
'A glass of wine?'
'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of that
as you like! It's too good to refuse.'
'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf.
'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip.
'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor, laying
down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work again,
pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!'
'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas.
'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!'
'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel that?'
'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to say you
do this every day, do you?'
'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day of
my life, when I dine at home.
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