The agitated young man would have accepted it, in his
confusion, had not Pott indignantly interposed.
'Back, ma'am--back!' said the editor. 'Take his hand before
my very face!'
'Mr. P.!' said his astonished lady.
'Wretched woman, look here,' exclaimed the husband. 'Look
here, ma'am--"Lines to a Brass Pot." "Brass Pot"; that's me,
ma'am. "False SHE'D have grown"; that's you, ma'am--you.'
With this ebullition of rage, which was not unaccompanied with
something like a tremble, at the expression of his wife's face,
Mr. Pott dashed the current number of the Eatanswill INDEPENDENT
at her feet.
'Upon my word, Sir,' said the astonished Mrs. Pott, stooping
to pick up the paper. 'Upon my word, Sir!'
Mr. Pott winced beneath the contemptuous gaze of his wife.
He had made a desperate struggle to screw up his courage, but it
was fast coming unscrewed again.
There appears nothing very tremendous in this little sentence,
'Upon my word, sir,' when it comes to be read; but the tone of
voice in which it was delivered, and the look that accompanied it,
both seeming to bear reference to some revenge to be thereafter
visited upon the head of Pott, produced their effect upon him.
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