“Thass yo’ di’ection? ’Tis the same, mine. We may accompany togetheh—if you’ll allow yo’ ’umble suvvant?”
“Come along! You do me honor!” Richling laid his hand on Narcisse’s shoulder and they went at a gait quickened by the happy husband’s elation. Narcisse was very proud of the touch, and, as they began to traverse the vegetable market, took the most populous arcade.
“Mistoo Itchlin,” he began again, “I muz congwatulate you! You know I always admiah yo’ lady to excess. But appopo of that news, I might infawm you some intelligens consunning myseff.”
“Good!” exclaimed Richling. “For it’s good news, isn’t it?”
“Yesseh,—as you may say,—yes. Faw in fact, Mistoo Itchlin, I ’ave ass Dr. Seveeah to haugment me.”
“Hurrah!” cried Richling. He coughed and laughed and moved aside to a pillar and coughed, until people looked at him, and lifted his eyes, tired but smiling, and, paying his compliments to the paroxysm in one or two ill-wishes, wiped his eyes at last, and said:—
“And the Doctor augmented you?”
“Well, no, I can’t say that—not p’ecisely.”
“Why, what did he do?”