“O, do they sell them down here? Cigars—cigars,” said Horatio, “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Now then, sir; what about this ere what d’ye call un—beef?”
Mr. Bumpkin, being a very artful man, was inwardly chuckling at the successful manœuvring by which he was drawing out this pale unsophisticated London youth, and hoped by dint of a little strategy to learn a good deal before they parted company.
“Brief! brief!” said Horatio, laughing.
“Ah! so it wur; thee said he wur a hell of a big un.”
“Yes, and I wrote him myself.”
“Did ur now; then thee knows all about un?”
“From beginning to end—he is a clipper, I can tell you; a regular whacker.”
“I hope he’ll whack thic Snooks then.”
“He’s a beauty!” rejoined Horatio, much to his companion’s surprise; for here was this young man speaking of a brief in the same terms that he (Bumpkin) would use with reference to a prize wurzel or swede. A brief being a beauty sounded somewhat strange in the ears of a farmer who could associate the term with nothing that didn’t grow on the farm.