"Vy, vot's the damage?" enquired Spriggs.

"Ten and fourpence."

"Ten and fourpence!--never!" cried his incredulous companion. "Vot a
himposition."

"Vell!" said Mr. Grubb, with a bitter emphasis, "if this is finding our
own wittles, we'll dine at the hor'nary next time"--

"Let's have a squint at it," said Mr. Spriggs, reaching across the table;
but all his squinting made the bill no less, and he laid it down with a
sigh. "It is coming it rayther strong, to be sure," continued he; "but I
dare say it's all our happearance has as done it. He takes us for people
o' consequence, and"--

"Vot consequence is that to us?" said Grubbs, doggedly.

"Vell, never mind, Dick, it's on'y vonce a-year, as the grotto-boys
says--"

"It need'nt to be; or I'll be shot if he mightn't vistle for the brads.
Howsomever, there's a hole in another suv'rin."

"Ve shall get through it the sooner," replied the consoling Spriggs. "I
see, Grubb, there aint a bit of the Frenchman about you"--

"Vy, pray?"