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88 |
THE CHIMES. |
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"Ah! It's very nice," said Toby. "It an't—I suppose it an't Polonies ?"
" No, no, no !" cried Meg, delighted. " Nothing like Polonies ! "
"No," said Toby, after another sniff. "It's—it's mellower than Polonies. It's very nice. It improves every moment. It's too decided for Trotters. An't it ?"
Meg was in an ecstasy. He could not have gone wider of the mark than Trotters—except Polonies.
" Liver ?" said Toby, communing with himself. " No. There's a mildness about it that don't answer to liver. Pettitoes ? No. It an't faint enough for pettitoes. It wants the stringiness of Cocks' heads. And I know it an't sausages. I'll tell you what it is. It's chitterlings ! "
" No, it an't!" cried Meg, in a burst of delight. " No, it an't!"
"Why, what am I a-thinking of!" said Toby, suddenly recovering a position as near the perpendicular as it was possible for him to assume. "I shall forget my own name next. It's tripe !"
Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say, in half a minute more, it was the best tripe ever stewed.
"And so," said Meg, busying herself exultingly with the basket, " I'll lay the cloth at once, father; for I have brought the tripe in a basin, and tied the basin up in a pocket-handkerchief; and if I like to be proud for once, and spread that for a cloth, and call it a cloth, there's no law to prevent me; is there, father ?"
"Not that I know of, my dear," said Toby. "But they're always a bringing up some new law or other."
" And according to what I was reading you in the paper the other day, father; what the Judge said, you know; we poor people are supposed to know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake ! My goodness me, how clever they think us !"
"Yes, my dear," cried Trotty; "and they'd be very fond of any one of us that did know 'em all. He'd grow fat upon the work he'd get, that man, and be popular witli the gentlefolks in his neighbourhood. Very much so ! "
" He'd eat his dinner with an appetite, whoever he was, if it smelt like this," said Meg, cheerfully. "Make haste, for there's a hot potato besides, and half a pint of fresh-drawn beer in a bottle. Where will you dine, father? On the Post, or on the Steps? Dear, dear, how grand we are. Two places to choose from !"
"The Steps to-day, my Pet," said Trotty. "Steps in dry weather. Post in wet. There's a greater conveniency in the |
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