"‘Disgustin', I calls it. The trash you pore do waste yer money on! 'Ere, 'ang a hantimokasser rahnd the thing an' be decent if you are pore.'
"‘Go,' screams the lidy, tremblin' an' pintin' ter the door.
"‘Wot! Yer don' like bein' Districk-wisited."' ses Muvver. 'Well, I am serprised. Any'ow you jest read this track, "’Ow will you like 'Ell?" an' we'll call agin' nex' week an' 'ope ter find some improvement'—an' hout we all marches lookin' most disapprovin'. . . ."
Bobball mused a moment in silence.
"’Ighly irreg'lar it were, an' most unproper conduck on the ol' gal's part—but it done the trick orl right. We never grot Districk-wisited no more. . . . Course your Pa's Districk-wisitin' may be different. . . ."
"Good Tosh, Bobball," murmured the President, but the Vice had gone to sleep.
