“ Mais oui ,” said the foreign gentleman, turning towards him. “ Est-ce que? Quoi donc? ”
But the gentleman with the lumpy forehead having for the time delivered himself of all that he found behind his lumps, spake for the time no more.
“I Was Inquiring,” said Mr. Podsnap, resuming the thread of his discourse, “Whether You Have Observed in our Streets as We should say, Upon our Pavvy as You would say, any Tokens—”
The foreign gentleman, with patient courtesy entreated pardon; “But what was tokenz?”
“Marks,” said Mr. Podsnap; “Signs, you know, Appearances—Traces.”
“Ah! Of a Orse?” inquired the foreign gentleman.
“We call it Horse,” said Mr. Podsnap, with forbearance. “In England, Angleterre, England, We Aspirate the H , and We Say ‘Horse.’ Only our Lower Classes Say ‘Orse!’ ”
“Pardon,” said the foreign gentleman; “I am alwiz wrong!”
“Our Language,” said Mr. Podsnap, with a gracious consciousness of being always right, “is Difficult. Ours is a Copious Language, and Trying to Strangers. I will not Pursue my Question.”
But the lumpy gentleman, unwilling to give it up, again madly said, “ Esker ,” and again spake no more.
“It merely referred,” Mr. Podsnap explained, with a sense of meritorious proprietorship, “to Our Constitution, Sir. We Englishmen are Very Proud of our Constitution, Sir. It Was Bestowed Upon Us By Providence. No Other Country is so Favoured as This Country.”