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You know: I'm coming to it shortly. I ain't much of a speaker, and if you wants somethin' new, you must ax elsewhere: but what I say is Bang it! here's good health and long life to Mr. Tom, up there! 'No names ! shouts the chairman, in the midst of a tremendous clatter. Farmer Broadmead moderately disengages his breadth from the seat.
'Where's the yarmony, Mr. Chair, I axes so please ye? sang out Farmer Broadmead. 'Ay, ay! Silence! the chairman called. Mr.
Only a few months ago, when he had sat on the hummock, falling into much the same position as he had so often done as a boy, he had even wondered whether he wanted to return to it. Broadmead could never be the same place to him again.
The door was open, and the company of jolly yeomen, tradesmen, farmers, and the like, had become intent on observing all the ceremonies of precedence: not one would broaden his back on the other; and there was bowing, and scraping, and grimacing, till Farmer Broadmead was hailed aloud, and the old boy stepped forth, and was summarily pushed through: the chairman calling from the rear, 'Hulloa! no names to-night! to which was answered lustily: 'All right, Mr.
'The Flyin' Number! echoed Farmer Broadmead, confidently and with clamour; adding to a friend, when both had drunk the toast to the dregs, 'But what number that be, or how many 'tis of 'em, dishes me! But that 's ne'ther here nor there. The chairman and host of the evening stood up to reply, welcomed by thunders 'There ye be, Mr.
"Eat you yer victuals, and drink yer beer, and none o' yer pryin's and peerin's among we!" That's my rebuff from Farmer Broadmead. And that old boy knows more than he will tell. I saw his cunning old eye on-cock. Be silent, Harrington. Let discretion be the seal of thy luck. 'You can reckon on my silence, said Evan. 'I believe in no such folly. Men don't do these things. 'Ha! went Mr.
Questions as to how it was done passed from mouth to mouth. Questions as to whether it was fair sprang from Tom's friends, and that a doubt existed was certain: the whole field was seen converging toward the two umpires. Farmer Broadmead for Fallow field, Master Nat Hodges for Beckley. It really is a mercy there's some change in the game, said Mrs. Shorne, waving her parasol.
At this juncture the chairman interposed. 'Harmony, my lads! harmony to-night. Farmer Broadmead, imagining it to be the signal for a song, returned: 'All right, Mr. Mr. Chair! but we an't got pipes in yet. Pipes before harmony, you know, to-night. The pipes were summoned forthwith. System appeared to regulate the proceedings of this particular night at the Green Dragon.
'The Flyin' Number! echoed Farmer Broadmead, confidently and with clamour; adding to a friend, when both had drunk the toast to the dregs, 'But what number that be, or how many 'tis of 'em, dishes me! But that 's ne'ther here nor there. The chairman and host of the evening stood up to reply, welcomed by thunders 'There ye be, Mr.
You know: I'm coming to it shortly. I ain't much of a speaker, and if you wants somethin' new, you must ax elsewhere: but what I say is Bang it! here's good health and long life to Mr. Tom, up there! 'No names! shouts the chairman, in the midst of a tremendous clatter. Farmer Broadmead moderately disengages his breadth from the seat. He humbly axes pardon, which is accorded him with a blunt nod.
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