“Sam,” said Hash, after a pause which had been intended primarily for massage, but which had plainly been accompanied by thought, “do you know anything about getting married?”
“Only that it is an excellent thing to do.”
“I mean, ’ow quick can a feller get married?”
“Like a flash, I believe. At any rate, if he goes to a registrar’s.”
“I’m going to a registrar’s then. I’ve ’ad enough of these what I might call misunderstandings.”
“Brave words, Hash! How are the legs?”
“The legs are all right. It’s her mother I’m thinking of.”
“You always seem to be thinking of her mother. Are you quite sure you’ve picked the right one of the family?”
Hash had halted again, and his face was that of a man whose soul was a battlefield.
“Sam, ’er mother wants to come and live with us when we’re married.”