Dicky, dear boy, it's my impression that we shall see blackbird's cage to-day.And it's my impression, Frank Murray, that if you call me Dicky again I shall punch your head.Poor fellow! Liver, decidedly, said the first speaker, in a mock sympathetic tone. Look here, old chap, if I were you, I'd go and ask Jones to give me a blue pill, to be followed eight hours later by one of his delicious liqueurs, all syrup of senna.