'Quarrel' it were your word; and I defy all Barkton, gentle and
simple, to say as how me and my master----"
"Whisht! whisht! Now, jintlemen, ye see what the great coming
sceince--the sceince of Healing--has to contind with. The dox are all
fools, but one: and the pashints are lyres, ivery man Jack. N' listen me;
y' have got a disease that you can't eradicate; but you may muzzle it for
years, and die of something quite different when your time's up."
"Like enough, sir. If _you_ please, ma'am, Dr. Stephenson do blame my
indigestion for it."
"Dr. Stephenson's an ass."
"Dear heart, how cantankerous you be. To be sure Dr. Osmond he says no:
it's muscular, says he."
"Dr. Osmond's an ijjit. List me; You mustn't grizzle about money; you
mustn't gobble, nor drink your beer too fast."
"You are wrong, doctor; I never drink no beer: it costs----"
"Your catlap, then. And above all, no grizzling! Go to church whenever
you can without losing a farthing. It's medicinal; soothes the brain, and
takes it off worldly cares. And have no words with your husband, or he'll
outlive you; it's his only chance of getting the last word.
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