“However, let’s hope he’ll mend. I suppose dinner’s pretty well cooled by this time, eh?”
“It won’t be too hot, I dare say, but the girl has set it down before the fire.”
The husband and wife went into the front parlour, where dinner was served. Richard Ashbrook was as hungry as a hunter, and did ample justice to the repast set before him.
“I’m sorry to hear so poor an account of John, though,” observed Patty. “Very sorry, but he mustn’t give way.”
“No, of course not; half his ailment proceeds from the mind. The doctor says he’s a—hip—adriach, or summat of that sort. I aint quite got hold of the right word, but I dessay we shouldn’t be much the wiser if I had.”
“It’s a longish word, aint it?”
“Oh, yes; an’ you’ve got to jolt it out if you want to make anything of it; but I say, old gell, I’ve got some news to tell ’ee—summat as ’ill surprise ’ee.”
“Lor! Out wi’ it, then; tell us what it is.”
“Why, I dessay you remember carroty-head Nettlethorpe, him as you used to be spooney on before you were silly enough to marry me.”
“Spooney on Nettlethorpe! Get out with you.”