Again the audience caught the gibe and laughed.
“Three gallons a day, that’s ’is measure,” interjected a morose gentleman, who was hanging over his garden gate and smoking the stump of a clay pipe.
“Wasn’t ’e carried ’ome from the club?”
“P’r’aps ’e was, p’r’aps ’e wasn’t. Any fool could ’ave seen that the man ’ad been workin’ hisself to death. Why, he fainted bang off one mornin’, round at our ’ouse. Ask my missus. A thimbleful o’ brandy would ’ave made a man in ’is state ’ug the railin’s.”
“Anyhow, he hugged ’em,” said the obdurate opponent.
“We ain’t always responsible for what we do when we’ve ’ad a bad smack over the side of the jaw.”
“Doct’rs oughtn’t ter touch it.”
“You’re a nice one to preach, now, ain’t yer?”
“He is that,” quoth the laconic worthy at the gate.
“Look ’ere, don’t you go shovin’ it into me—sideways.”