"Vether a mule brays or neighs?" repeated Mr. Jorrocks, considering. "I'll lay I can!"
"Which, then?" inquired Mrs. Jorrocks.
"Vy, I should say it brayed."
"Mule bray!" cried Mrs. Jorrocks, clapping her hands with delight, "there's a cockney blockhead for you! It brays, does it?"
Mr. Jorrocks. I meant to say, neighed.
"Ho! ho! ho!" grinned Mrs. J——, "neighs, does it? You are a nice man for a fox-'unter—a mule neighs—thought I'd catch you some of these odd days with your wain conceit."
"Vy, what does it do then?" inquired Mr. Jorrocks, his choler rising as he spoke. "I hopes, at all ewents, he don't make the 'orrible noise you do."
"Why, it screams, you great hass!" rejoined his loving spouse.
A single, but very resolute knock at the street door, sounding quite through the house, stopped all further ebullition, and Benjamin, slipping out, held a short conversation with someone in the street, and returned.
"What's happened now, Binjimin?" inquired Mr. Jorrocks, with anxiety on his countenance, as the boy re-entered the room; "the 'osses arn't amiss, I 'ope?"