‘A’most used-up I am, I do declare!’ she observed. ‘The jolting in the cars is pretty nigh as bad as if the rail was full of snags and sawyers.’
‘Snags and sawyers, ma’am?’ said Martin.
‘Well, then, I do suppose you’ll hardly realise my meaning, sir,’ said Mrs Hominy. ‘My! Only think! do tell!’
It did not appear that these expressions, although they seemed to conclude with an urgent entreaty, stood in need of any answer; for Mrs Hominy, untying her bonnet-strings, observed that she would withdraw to lay that article of dress aside, and would return immediately.
‘Mark!’ said Martin. ‘Touch me, will you. Am I awake?’
‘Hominy is, sir,’ returned his partner—‘Broad awake! Just the sort of woman, sir, as would be discovered with her eyes wide open, and her mind a-working for her country’s good, at any hour of the day or night.’
They had no opportunity of saying more, for Mrs Hominy stalked in again—very erect, in proof of her aristocratic blood; and holding in her clasped hands a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, perhaps a parting gift from that choice spirit, the Major. She had laid aside her bonnet, and now appeared in a highly aristocratic and classical cap, meeting beneath her chin: a style of headdress so admirably adapted to her countenance, that if the late Mr Grimaldi had appeared in the lappets of Mrs Siddons, a more complete effect could not have been produced.
Martin handed her to a chair. Her first words arrested him before he could get back to his own seat.
‘Pray, sir!’ said Mrs Hominy, ‘where do you hail from?’
‘I am afraid I am dull of comprehension,’ answered Martin, ‘being extremely tired; but upon my word I don’t understand you.’