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Mr. Cruncher had no particular meaning in these sulky

corroborations, but made use of them, as people not unfrequently

do, to express general ironical dissatisfaction.

"You and your yes, Jerry," said Mr. Cruncher, taking a bite out

of his bread-and-butter, and seeming to help it down with a large

invisible oyster out of his saucer. "Ah! I think so. I believe

you."

"You are going out to-night?" asked his decent wife, when he took

another bite.

"Yes, I am."

"May I go with you, father?" asked his son, briskly.

"No, you mayn't. I'm a going--as your mother knows--a fishing.

That's where I'm going to. Going a fishing."

"Your fishing-rod gets rayther rusty; don't it, father?"

"Never you mind."

"Shall you bring any fish home, father?"

"If I don't, you'll have short commons, to-morrow," returned that

gentleman, shaking his head; "that's questions enough for you; I

ain't a going out, till you've been long abed."