spoke.  “Ay, but I’d rayther it should leave something in the mouth than on the side of the glass,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “I loves a good strong generous wine—­military port, in fact—­but here comes fish and soup—­wot are they?” “Filet de sole au gratin, et potage au macaroni avec fromage de Parmesan.  I’ll take fish first, because the soup will keep hot longest.”  “So will I,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “for I think you understand the thing—­but they seem to give werry small penn’orths—­it really looks like trifling with one’s appetite—­I likes the old joint—­the cut-and-come-again system, such as we used to have at Sugden’s in Cornhill—­joint, wegitables, and cheese all for two shillings.”  “Don’t talk of your joints here,” rejoined the Yorkshireman—­“I told you before, you don’t understand the art of eating—­the dexterity of the thing consists in titivating the appetite with delicate morsels so as to prolong the pleasure.  A well-regulated French dinner lasts two hours, whereas you go off at score, and take the shine out of yourself before you turn the Tattenham Corner of your appetite.  But come, take another glass of Chablis, for your voice is husky as though your throat was full of dust.—­Will you eat some of this boulli-vert?” “No, not no bouleward for me thank ye.”  “Well, then, we will have the ’entree de boeuf—­beef with sauce tomate—­and there is a cotelette de veau en papillotte;—­which will you take?” “I’ll trouble the beef, I think; I don’t like that ’ere pantaloon cutlet much, the skin is so tough.”  “Oh, but you don’t eat the paper, man; that is only put on to keep this nice layer of fat ham from melting; take some, if it is only that you may enjoy a glass of champagne after it.  There is no meat like veal for paving the way for a glass of champagne.”  “Well, I don’t care if I do, now you have explained how to eat it, for I’ve really been troubled with indigestion all day from eating one wholesale yesterday; but don’t you stand potatoes—­pommes de terre, as we say in France?” “Oh yes, fried, and a la maitre d’hotel; here they come, smoking hot.  Now, J——­ for a glass of champagne—­take it out of the pail—­nay, man! not with both hands round the middle, unless you like it warm—­by the neck, so,” showing him how to do it and pouring him a glass of still champagne.  “This won’t do,” said Jorrocks, holding it up to the candle; “garsoon! garsoon!—­no good—­no bon—­no fizzay, no fizzay,” giving the bottom of the bottle a slap with his hand to rouse it.  “Oh, but this is still champagne,” explained the Yorkshireman, “and far the best.”  “I don’t think so,” retorted Mr. Jorrocks, emptying the glass into his water-stand.  “Well, then, have a bottle of the other,” rejoined the Yorkshireman, ordering one.  “And who’s to pay for it?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.  “Oh, never mind that—­care killed the cat—­give a loose to pleasure for once, for it’s a poor heart that never rejoices.  Here it comes, and ‘may you never know what it is to want,’ as the beggar boys say.—­Now,