Yorkshireman. Well, then, J——, you must just stay at home and get bullied by Mrs. J——, who will be back just now, I dare say, perhaps followed by Jenner and half Doctors' Commons.
Jorrocks. The deuce! I forgot all that—curse Mrs. J—— and the Commons too. Well, Mr. Yorkshireman, I don't care if I do go with you—but where shall it be to? Some place where we can be quiet, for I really am werry bad, and not up to nothing like a lark.
Yorkshireman. Suppose we take a sniff of the briny—Margate—Ramsgate—Broadstairs?
Jorrocks. No, none of them places—over-well-known at 'em all—can't be quiet—get to the lush-crib again, perhaps catch the cholera and go to Gravesend by mistake. Let's go to the Eel Pye at Twickenham and live upon fish.
Yorkshireman. Fish! you old flat. Why, you know, you'd be the first to cry out if you had to do so. No, no—let's have no humbug—here, drink your coffee like a man, and then hustle your purse and see what it will produce. Why, even Betsey's laughing at the idea of your living upon fish.
Jorrocks. Don't shout so, pray—your woice shoots through every nerve of my head and distracts me (drinks). This is grand Mocho—quite the cordial balm of Gilead—werry fine indeed. Now I feel rewived and can listen to you.
Yorkshireman. Well, then, pull on your boots—gird up your loins, and let's go and spend this five pounds—stay away as long as it lasts, in fact.
Jorrocks. Well, but give me the coin—it's mine you know—and let me be paymaster, or I know you'll soon be into dock again. That's right; and now I have got three half-crowns besides, which I will add.
Yorkshireman. And I've got three pence, which, not to be behind-hand in point of liberality, I'll do the same with, so that we have got five pounds seven shillings and ninepence between us, according to Cocker.
Jorrocks. Between us, indeed! I likes that. You're a generous churchwarden.