d'y'do's

Updated: May 18, 2025

I was in my troop lines one afternoon, blackguarding a farrier, when a loud nicker sounded on the road and a black cob, bearing a feebly protesting padre upon his fat back, trotted through the gate, up to the lines and began to swop How d'y'do's with my hairies. The little Padre cocked his head on one side and oozed apologies from every pore.

Various - Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, July 11, 1917