Mr. Crabtree and the two fathers made the speeches, over and beyond that
which was made by Joe himself. Joe's father was not eloquent. He brewed,
no doubt, good beer, without a taste in it beyond malt and hops;--no man
in the county brewed better beer; but he couldn't make a speech. He got
up, dressed in a big white waistcoat, and a face as red as his son's
hunting-coat, and said that he hoped his boy would make a good husband.
All he could say was, that being a lover had not helped to make him a
good brewer. Perhaps when Molly Annesley was brought nearer to
Buntingford, Joe mightn't spend so much of his time in going to and fro.
Perhaps Mr. Joe might not demand so much of her attention. This was the
great point he made, and it was received well by all but the bride, who
whispered to Joe that if he thought that he was to be among the brewing
tubs from morning till night he'd find he was mistaken. Mr. Annesley
threw a word or two of feeling into his speech, as is usual with the
father of the young lady, but nobody seemed to care much for that. Mr.
Crabtree was facetious with the ordinary wedding jests,--as might have
been expected, seeing that he had been present at every wedding in the
county for the last twenty years.
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