“Hallo there!” repeated Mr. Pickwick.
“Hallo!” was the red-headed man’s reply.
“How far is it to Dingley Dell?”
“Better er seven mile.”
“Is it a good road?”
“No, ’tan’t.” Having uttered this brief reply, and apparently satisfied himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man resumed his work.
“We want to put this horse up here,” said Mr. Pickwick; “I suppose we can, can’t we?”
“Want to put that ere horse up, do ee?” repeated the red-headed man, leaning on his spade.
“Of course,” replied Mr. Pickwick, who had by this time advanced, horse in hand, to the garden rails.
“Missus”—roared the man with the red head, emerging from the garden, and looking very hard at the horse—“Missus!”