She ses, "Deputy, I must 'ave a early wash, and make myself as swell as I can, for I'm a-goin' to take a turn at the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!"' He separates the syllables with his former zest, and, not finding his sense of the ludicrous sufficiently relieved by stamping about on the pavement, breaks into a slow and stately dance, perhaps supposed to be performed by the Dean.
Mr.Datchery receives the communication with a well-satisfied though pondering face, and breaks up the conference.

Returning to his quaint lodging, and sitting long over the supper of bread-and-cheese and salad and ale which Mrs.Tope has left prepared for him, he still sits when his supper is finished.

At length he rises, throws open the door of a corner cupboard, and refers to a few uncouth chalked strokes on its inner side.
'I like,' says Mr.Datchery, 'the old tavern way of keeping scores.
Illegible except to the scorer.

The scorer not committed, the scored debited with what is against him.

Hum; ha! A very small score this; a very poor score!' He sighs over the contemplation of its poverty, takes a bit of chalk from one of the cupboard shelves, and pauses with it in his hand, uncertain what addition to make to the account.
'I think a moderate stroke,' he concludes, 'is all I am justified in scoring up;' so, suits the action to the word, closes the cupboard, and goes to bed.
A brilliant morning shines on the old city.