ssess themselves of his
property--didn't he say so himself? He may be a little odd and flighty,
perhaps, many of us are that; but downright mad! and express himself as
he does, respectfully, and in quite poetical language, and making offers
with so much thought, and care, and prudence--not as if he ran into the
streets, and went down upon his knees to the first chit of a girl he
met, as a madman would! No, no, Kate, there's a great deal too much
method in HIS madness; depend upon that, my dear.'

CHAPTER 42

Illustrative of the convivial Sentiment, that the best of Friends must
sometimes part

The pavement of Snow Hill had been baking and frying all day in the
heat, and the twain Saracens' heads guarding the entrance to the
hostelry of whose name and sign they are the duplicate presentments,
looked--or seemed, in the eyes of jaded and footsore passers-by, to
look--more vicious than usual, after blistering and scorching in the
sun, when, in one of the inn's smallest sitting-rooms, through whose
open window there rose, in a palpable steam, wholesome exhalations from
reeking coach-horses, the usual furniture of a tea-table was displayed
in neat and inviting order, flanked by large joints of roast and boiled,
a tongue, a pigeon pie, a cold fowl, a tankard of ale, and other little
matters of the like kind, which, in degenerate towns and cities, are
generally understood to belong more particularly to solid lunches,
stage-coach dinners, or unusually substantial breakfasts.

Mr John Browdie, with his hands in his pockets, hovered restlessly about
these delicacies, stopping occasionally to whisk the flies out of the
sugar-basin with his wife's pocket-handkerchief, or to dip a teaspoon in
the milk-pot and carry it to his mouth, or to cut off a little knob of
crust, and a little corner of meat, and swallow them at two gulps like a
couple of pills. After every one of these flirtations with the eatables,
he pulled out his watch, and declared with an earnestness quite pathetic
that he couldn't undertake to hold out two minutes longer.

'Tilly!' said John to his lady, who was reclining half awake and half
asleep upon a sofa.

'Well, John!'

'Well, John!' retorted her husband, impatiently. 'Dost thou feel
hoongry, lass?'

'Not very,' said Mrs Browdie.

'Not vary!' repeated John, raising his eyes to the ceiling. 'Hear her
say not vary, and us dining at three, and loonching off pasthry thot
aggravates a mon 'stead of pa