'The idea! Saracen's
Head.'
'Sure-ly,' said John, 'I know'd it was something aboot Sarah's Son's
Head. Dost thou know thot?'
'Oh, ah! I know that,' replied the coachman gruffly, as he banged the
door.
''Tilda, dear, really,' remonstrated Miss Squeers, 'we shall be taken
for I don't know what.'
'Let them tak' us as they foind us,' said John Browdie; 'we dean't come
to Lunnun to do nought but 'joy oursel, do we?'
'I hope not, Mr Browdie,' replied Miss Squeers, looking singularly
dismal.
'Well, then,' said John, 'it's no matther. I've only been a married man
fower days, 'account of poor old feyther deein, and puttin' it off. Here
be a weddin' party--broide and broide's-maid, and the groom--if a mun
dean't 'joy himsel noo, when ought he, hey? Drat it all, thot's what I
want to know.'
So, in order that he might begin to enjoy himself at once, and lose no
time, Mr Browdie gave his wife a hearty kiss, and succeeded in wresting
another from Miss Squeers, after a maidenly resistance of scratching and
struggling on the part of that young lady, which was not quite over when
they reached the Saracen's Head.
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