"Egad!" said he to the Corporal one day, when confiding his griefs
to Mr. Brock, "I wish my toe had been cut off before ever it served
as a ladder to this little vixen."

"Or perhaps your honour would wish to kick her downstairs with it?"
delicately suggested Mr. Brock.

"Kick her! why, the wench would hold so fast by the banisters that I
COULD not kick her down, Mr. Brock. To tell you a bit of a secret,
I HAVE tried as much--not to kick her--no, no, not kick her,
certainly: that's ungentlemanly--but to INDUCE her to go back to
that cursed pot-house where we fell in with her. I have given her
many hints--"

"Oh, yes, I saw your honour give her one yesterday--with a mug of
beer. By the laws, as the ale run all down her face, and she
clutched a knife to run at you, I don't think I ever saw such a
she-devil! That woman will do for your honour some day, if you
provoke her."

"Do for ME? No, hang it, Mr. Brock, never! She loves every hair of
my head, sir: she worships me, Corporal. Egad, yes! she worships
me; and would much sooner apply a knife to her own weasand than
scratch my little finger!"

"I think she does," said Mr. Brock.

"I'm sure of it," said the Captain. "Women, look you, are like
dogs, they like to be ill-treated: they like it, sir; I know they