“We have arranged to keep our Wedding-Day (as far as that goes) at home,” said John. “We have made the promise to ourselves these six months. We think, you see, that home – ”
“Bah! what’s home?” cried Tackleton. “Four walls and a ceiling! (why don’t you kill that Cricket? I would! I always do. I hate their noise.) There are four walls and a ceiling at my house. Come to me!”
“You kill your Crickets, eh?” said John.
“Scrunch ”em, sir,” returned the other, setting his heel heavily on the floor. “You’ll say you’ll come? It’s as much your interest as mine, you know, that the women should persuade each other that they’re quiet and contented, and couldn’t be better off. I know their way. Whatever one woman says, another woman is determined to clinch, always. There’s that spirit of emulation among ”em, sir, that if your wife says to my wife, “I’m the happiest woman in the world, and mine’s the best husband in the world, and I dote on him,” my wife will say the same to yours, or more, and half believe it.”
“Do you mean to say she don’t, then?” asked the Carrier.
“Don’t!” cried Tackleton, with a short, sharp laugh. “Don’t what?”
The Carrier had some faint idea of adding, “dote upon you.” But, happening to meet the half-closed eye, as it twinkled upon him over the turned-up collar of the cape, which was within an ace of poking it out, he felt it such an unlikely part and parcel of anything to be doted on, that he substituted, “that she don’t believe it?”