truth. Now listen to me. [He marks off the items of his statement
with ridiculous stiff gestures of his head and arms, imitating a
puppet.] You are Captain Whatshisname; and your uncle is the Earl
of Whatdyecallum; and your father is Bishop of Thingummybob; and
you are a young man of the highest spr--promise (I told you I was
drunk), educated at Cambridge, and got your step as captain in
the field at the GLORIOUS battle of Bunker's Hill. Invalided home
from America at the request of Aunt Fanny, Lady-in-Waiting to the
Queen. All right, eh?

EDSTASTON. How do you know all this?

PATIOMKIN [crowing fantastically]. In er lerrer, darling,
darling, darling, darling. Lerrer you showed me.

EDSTASTON. But you didn't read it.

PATIOMKIN [flapping his fingers at him grotesquely]. Only one
eye, darling. Cross eye. Sees everything. Read lerrer
inceince-istastaneously. Kindly give me vinegar borle. Green
borle. On'y to sober me. Too drunk to speak porply. If you would
be so kind, darling. Green borle. [Edstaston, still suspicious,
shakes his head and keeps his pistols ready.] Reach it myself.
[He reaches behind him up to the table, and snatches at the green
bottle, from which he takes a copious draught. Its effect is
appalling. His wry faces and agonized belchings are so
heartrending that they almost upset Edstaston. When the victim at
last staggers to his feet, he is a pale fragile nobleman, aged
and quite sober, extremely dignified in manner and address,
though shaken by his recent convulsions.] Young man, it is not