“Then,” said Gaff; with the air of a general officer who gives the word for the commencement of a great fight, “begin, an’ fire away.”
“But what am I to say, daddy?”
“Ah, to be sure, you’d better begin, Tottie,” said Gaff, evidently in perplexity; “you’d better begin as they teach you to at the school, where you’ve larnt to write so butiful.”
Here Mrs Gaff advised, rather abruptly, that she had better write, “this comes hoping you’re well;” but her husband objected, on the ground that the words were untrue, inasmuch as he did not care a straw whether the person to be written to was well or ill.
“Is’t to a man or a ’ooman we’re a-writin’, daddie?” inquired the youthful scribe.
“It’s a gentleman.”
“Then we’d better begin ‘dear sir,’ don’t you think?”
“But he an’t dear to me,” said Gaff.
“No more is he to me,” observed his wife.
“Make it ‘sir,’ plain ‘sir’ means nothin’ in partickler, I b’lieve,” said Gaff with animation, “so we’ll begin it with plain ‘sir.’ Now, then, fire away, Tottie.”