"If 'e comes it over me," she explained, "I gives 'im a shove in the marf."
She was an attractive child—rather freckled and very shrill; but having cheerful eyes.
"What you recommend me to do about Mine, Doctor? 'E's queer."
DOCTOR BRINK: How queer?
THE BRIDE: Queer in 'is 'ead. Won't talk to nobody. Won't eat. 'E's learnin isself to write short'and.
DOCTOR BRINK: But I think that's rather sensible.
THE BRIDE: More sensible if he was to bring 'ome some money. 'E's a chair-packer's labourer. What's the good o' short'and to a chair-packer's labourer?
DOCTOR BRINK: Perhaps he has ambitions.
THE BRIDE (gloomily): Not 'im. 'E's got the sulks. If you go an' give it a big name like that, 'e'll never get better. I ain't even let 'im know I've come to you—'e's ser easy encouraged. What 'e wants is a dose o' your pale yaller—even my ole gran'ma can't drink that, and she's been takin' medsin since so 'igh. That's what 'e wants: a dose o' your pale yaller and a flip be'ind the ear.
DOCTOR BRINK: How old is your husband?