'
'And wa'at may thot be?' asked John.
'That you make me a godfather the very first time you have occasion for
one.'
'Eh! d'ye hear thot?' cried John, laying down his knife and fork. 'A
godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha! Tilly--hear till 'un--a godfeyther! Divn't say
a word more, ye'll never beat thot. Occasion for 'un--a godfeyther! Ha!
ha! ha!'
Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John Browdie
was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated himself by laughing
large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again, persisted in
eating at the same time, got red in the face and black in the forehead,
coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughing inwardly, got worse,
choked, had his back thumped, stamped about, frightened his wife, and
at last recovered in a state of the last exhaustion and with the water
streaming from his eyes, but still faintly ejaculating, 'A godfeyther--a
godfeyther, Tilly!' in a tone bespeaking an exquisite relish of the
sally, which no suffering could diminish.
'You remember the night of our first tea-drinking?' said Nicholas.
'Shall I e'er forget it, mun?' replied John Browdie.
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