’O，it’sbetterknownthanyousuppose，’saidMichaelsippinghisbrandyandsoda。’IalwaysactonitmyselfwhenIwantadrink。’
Theoldgentleman，whowasanxioustopropitiateMichael，laughedacheerlesslaugh。’Youhavesuchaflowofspirits，’saidhe，’I
amsureIoftenfinditquiteamusing。ButregardingthisprincipleofwhichIwasabouttospeak。Itisthatofaccommodatingone’s—selftothemannersofanyland（howeverhumble）inwhichourlotmaybecast。Now，inFrance，forinstance，everyonegoestoacafeforhismeals;inAmerica，towhatiscalleda\"two—bithouse\";inEnglandthepeopleresorttosuchaninstitutionasthepresentforrefreshment。Withsandwiches，tea，andanoccasionalglassofbitterbeer，amancanliveluxuriouslyinLondonforfourteenpoundstwelveshillingsperannum。’
’Yes，Iknow，’returnedMichael，’butthat’snotincludingclothes，washing，orboots。Thewholething，withcigarsandoccasionalsprees，costsmeoversevenhundredayear。’
ButthiswasMichael’slastinterruption。Helistenedingood—humouredsilencetotheremainderofhisuncle’slecture，whichspeedilybranchedtopoliticalreform，thencetothetheoryoftheweather—glass，withanillustrativeaccountofaboraintheAdriatic;thenceagaintothebestmannerofteachingarithmetictothedeaf—and—dumb;andwiththat，thesandwichbeingthennomore，explicuitvaldefeliciter。AmomentlaterthepairissuedforthontheKing’sRoad。