'So ye'n been married a year?' said Uncle Dan, smiling at Maud.
'Oh yes; a year and three days. We're quite used to it.'
'Us'n be in h-ll in a minute, wench!' exclaimed Dan, calmly
changing the topic, as Harold swung the car within an inch of a
brewer's dray, and skidded slightly in the process. No anti-
skidding device would operate in that generous, oozy mud.
And, as a matter of fact, they were in Hanbridge the next minute--
Hanbridge, the centre of the religions, the pleasures, and the
vices of the Five Towns.
'Bless us!' said the old man. 'It's fifteen year and more since I
were here.'
'Harold,' said Maud, 'let's stop at the Piccadilly Cafe and have
some tea.'
'Cafe?' asked Dan. 'What be that?'
'It's a kind of a pub.' Harold threw the explanation over his
shoulder as he brought the car up with swift dexterity in front of
the Misses Callear's newly opened afternoon tea-rooms.
'Oh, well, if it's a pub,' said Uncle Dan, 'I dunna' object.'
He frankly admitted, on entering, that he had never before seen a
pub full of little tables and white cloths, and flowers, and young
women, and silver teapots, and cake-stands. And though he did pour
his tea into his saucer, he was sufficiently at home there to
address the younger Miss Callear as 'young woman', and to inform
her that her beverage was lacking in Orange Pekoe.
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