But them fine-talking men from the big towns mostly wear the false shirt-fronts; they wear a frill till it's all a mess, and then hide it with a bib; I know Riley does.

And then, if Tom's to go and live at Mudport, like Riley, he'll have a house with a kitchen hardly big enough to turn in, an' niver get a fresh egg for his breakfast, an' sleep up three pair o' stairs,--or four, for what I know,--and be burnt to death before he can get down." "No, no," said Mr.Tulliver, "I've no thoughts of his going to Mudport: I mean him to set up his office at St.Ogg's, close by us, an' live at home.

But," continued Mr.Tulliver after a pause, "what I'm a bit afraid on is, as Tom hasn't got the right sort o' brains for a smart fellow.

I doubt he's a bit slowish.

He takes after your family, Bessy." "Yes, that he does," said Mrs.Tulliver, accepting the last proposition entirely on its own merits; "he's wonderful for liking a deal o' salt in his broth.