“The leg ought to ha’ been turned in the brine twice a day, and her wasn’t. If her had been, her’d ha’ been famous.”
“I rather think, Mrs. Pepperill, this leg of pork is likely to become famous now, as I see a local reporter present, and it will appear in the paper. But this leg is blocking our way; let us lay it on the shelf and proceed, as the French say, to our mutton. Where were you at seven, or, may be, half-past seven, on the evening of the 16th ultimo?”
“I don’t think I was nowhere.”
“What! nowhere three days ago?”
“That wor the 16th August.”
“Well, I said so.”
“Beg pardon, sir, you asked for the 16th of Ultimo, and I never heered tell o’ that month. It ain’t in the calendar.”
“Come; on the evening of the 16th last, were you at supper with your husband and others?”
“Yes.”
“And those others were”’