"My dearest Jim!" said Alice, rousing herself, "What is the matter with you?"
Jim read aloud the immortal battle of the two editors, with their carpet bags, in "Pickwick," and, ere he had half done, Alice and Mrs. Buckley had mingled their laughter with his, quite as heartily, if not so loudly.
"Hallo!" said Jim; "here's a nuisance! There's no more of it. Alice, have you got any more?"
"That is all, Jim. The other numbers will come by the next mail."
"How tiresome! I suppose the governor is pretty sure to be home to-night. He can't be away much longer."
"Don't be impatient, my dear," said Alice. "How is your leg?"
Please to remember that Jim's leg was broken in the late wars, and, as yet, hardly well.
"Oh, it's a good deal better. Heigho! This is very dull."
"Thank you, James!" said Mrs. Buckley. "Dear me! the heat gets greater every day. If they are on the road, I hope they won't hurry themselves."
Our old friends were just now disposed in the following manner:—