"I am sure you did not mean to hurt him, Sprott," said the parson, more politely I fear than honestly,—for he had seen enough of that cross- grained thing called the human heart, even in the little world of a country parish, to know that it requires management and coaxing and flattering, to interfere successfully between a man and his own donkey,— "I am sure you did not mean to hurt him; but he has already got a sore on his shoulder as big as my hand, poor thing!"
"Lord love 'un! yes; that was done a playing with the manger the day I gave 'un oats!" said the tinker.
Dr. Riccabocca adjusted his spectacles, and surveyed the ass. The ass pricked up his other ear, and surveyed Dr. Riccabocca. In that mutual survey of physical qualifications, each being regarded according to the average symmetry of its species, it may be doubted whether the advantage was on the side of the philosopher.
The parson had a great notion of the wisdom of his friend in all matters not purely ecclesiastical.
"Say a good word for the donkey!" whispered he.
"Sir," said the doctor, addressing Mr. Sprott, with a respectful salutation, "there's a great kettle at my house—the Casino—which wants soldering: can you recommend me a tinker?"
"Why, that's all in my line," said Sprott; "and there ben't a tinker in the county that I vould recommend like myself, thof I say it."
"You jest, good sir," said the doctor, smiling pleasantly. "A man who can't mend a hole in his own donkey can never demean himself by patching up my great kettle."
"Lord, sir!" said the tinker, archly, "if I had known that poor Neddy had had two sitch friends in court, I'd have seen he vas a gintleman, and treated him as sitch."
"/Corpo di Bacco!/" quoth the doctor, "though that jest's not new, I think the tinker comes very well out of it."