Squeaks of delight contributed to another explosion of mirth.
They sat down to tea hilariously. . . .
“Do you ’unt at all?” said Mr. Alcock, presenting a dish of shrimps.
“I’ve given it up,” said Ann.
“ ’E means by night,” said Uncle Tom.
The laughter was renewed.
“Oh, give over, pa,” wailed Ada. “You’ve give me the ’iccups.”
It was too true.
Seats were left: remedies were commended: the victim was conjured—to no purpose. Spasm succeeded spasm with sickening regularity.
“ ’Old your breath,” said Bob.