“Vastly better, thank'ye; how's Wallis and the other fellows?—prime sport that cricketing.”
“Yes; but, I say, you'll never have 'a run' of luck, if you stick to the wicket so.”
“True; but I made a hit or two, you must allow,” replied Mr. Crobble; “though I'm afraid I'm a sorry member.”
“A member, indeed!—no, no; you're the body, and we're the—members,” replied Mr. Timmis, laughing; “but, halloo! what's that patch on your forehead—bin a fighting?”
“No; but I've been a hunting,” said Mr. Crobble, “and this here's the fruits—You know my gray?”
“The nag you swopp'd the bay roadster for with Tom Brown?”
“Him,” answered Crobble. “Well, I took him to Hertfordshire Wednesday last—”
“He took you, you mean.”
“Well, what's the odds?”
“The odds, why, in your favour, to be sure, as I dare say the horse can witness.”