"He dresses completely," said Sophia, "before he touches water; and, being equipped, he wets a very dirty hair-brush and draws it over his head; and this is what he calls washing it—and then, having thus washed his hands and face, he says that he feels fresh and comfortable."
One day Deerhurst insisted on my accompanying him and Sophia in his curricle, to go out of town somewhere to dinner.
"Three in a curricle?" said Sophia.
"Oh, it is no matter at this time of the year;" Deerhurst replied.
I inquired where we should dine.
Deerhurst named some small place about eight miles from town, but I have forgotten what he called it. He took us to a common village pot-house, where nothing could be put on the table besides fried eggs and bacon.
"Most excellent!" exclaimed Deerhurst, "an exquisite dish—and so very rural!"
Our rural dinner was soon despatched; and, as I could not endure the strong smell of tobacco, which issued in copious fumes from the tap-room, I proposed returning to town as fast as possible.
Sophia, who always agreed with everybody, was asked first by Deerhurst if eggs and bacon were not a delightful dish.
She answered, "Very much so indeed."