“I don’t care about it for myself,” answered the youth; “but if you like to have one I’ll join you with pleasure.”
“So us wool then;” and up they pulled at the sign of the “Merry-go-round” on Addlehead Green.
“Bain’t bad tackle!” said Mr. Bumpkin, tossing off his glass.
“No,” responded Horatio, “I’ve tasted worse medicine. I quite enjoy my ride, Mr. Bumpkin; I wish we had a dozen more affidavits to swear.”
“I doan’t,” said the client; “I sworn a goodish many on em as it be. I doan’t think that air Snooks can bate un.”
“I don’t think he can,” said Horatio, as they once more climbed into the old-fashioned gig; “but talk
about paper, you should see your brief: that’s a caution and no mistake!”
“Is ur now? In what way, sir?”
“Lor, how I should like a cigar, Mr. Bumpkin, if I’d only got my case with me, but unfortunately—”
“Would ur—then thee shall ’ave one; here, Mr. Ostler, jest goo and fetch one o’ them there what d’ye call ems.”