choked, and had that moment come to, “I have brought you as the compliments of the season — I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherry wine — and I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of port wine.”
Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty, with exactly the same words, and carrying the two bottles like dumb-bells.
Every Christmas Day, Mrs. Joe replied, as she now replied, “O, Un — cle Pum-ble — chook! This is kind!” Every Christmas Day, he retorted, as he now retorted, “It's no more than your merits. And now are you all bobbish, and how's Sixpennorth of halfpence?” meaning me.
We dined on these occasions in the kitchen, and adjourned, for the