“Dannie, lad,” my uncle anxiously inquired, “can it be that you likes them there fresh carrots?”
It could easily be.
“An’ paid for!” my uncle ejaculated, with no abatement of delight. “Parson,” he proceeded, proudly, “good feed that there young gentleman has in the cabin, eh?”
My tutor agreed.
“None better in the world, eh?” the old man went on. “You couldn’t do no better, could you?”
My tutor said that no man could.
“An’ paid for,” says my uncle, thumbing down. “Paid for, every bite!” He turned to me. “Dannie,” says he, “how d’ye like them there new potatoes?”
They were more than palatable.
“Hear that, parson!” cries my uncle. “He likes un! Imported direck, sir, from Bermuda,” says he, with all the vanity of riches. “Ever feed so high yourself, parson? Consignment arrived,” says he, “per S.S. Silvia. You’ll see it in the Herald an you looks.”