“So am I,” he growled. “Lor’! I do wish my old man was here, too: he often talked about you.”
“About me, Jack?”
“Ah! ’member that pot o’ beer you stood for him when you was going away—uppards—you know?”
“Yes; I remember.”
“So do he. He says it was the sweetest drop he ever had in his life; and he never goes by that ’ere house without drinking your health.”
“Jack often talks about you,” said “my missus.”
“I should think I do!” growled Jack. “I say, missus, what’s in the pot?”
“Biled rabbit, inguns, and bit o’ bacon,” was the prompt reply.
“Stop an’ have a bit o’ dinner with us, then. I’ve got plenty o’ beer.”
I was about to say no, as I glanced at Tom; but his eyes were full of glee, and he kept nodding his head, so I said yes.