“I thought you had come up to see her,” said I to Tom, as we shoved off.
“See her at Jericho first,” replied Tom “she’s worse than a dog vane.”
“What, are you two again?”
“Two indeed—it’s all two—we are two fools. She is too fanciful; I am too fond; she behaves too ill, and I put up with too much. However, it’s all one.”
“I thought it was all two just now, Tom.”
“But two may be made one, Jacob, you know.”
“Yes, by the parson: but you are no parson.”
“Anyhow, I am something like one just now,” replied Tom, who was pulling the foremost oar; “for you are a good clerk, and I am sitting behind you.”
“That’s not so bad,” observed the gentleman in the stern-sheets, whom we had forgotten in the colloquy.
“A waterman would make but a bad parson, sir,” replied Tom.