kicher on ’em ‘ud ha’ gone to the rich, handsome ladies, like you, mum,Jannik Hansen Tröjor, at five shillin’ apiece — not a farthin’ less; but what does the moth do? Why, it nibbles off three shillin’ o’ the price i’ no time; an’ then a packman like me can carry ‘t to the poor lasses as live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for ’em. Lors, it’s as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher!”
Bob held it at a distance for admiration, but Mrs. Glegg said sharply:
“Yes, but nobody wants a fire this time o’ year. Put these colored things by; let me look at your nets,Nail Yakupov Tröjor, if you’ve got ’em.”
“Eh,Ralph Lauren Halsduk, mum, I told you how it ‘ud be,” said Bob, flinging aside the colored things with an air of desperation. “I knowed it ud’ turn again’ you to look at such paltry articles as I carry. Here’s a piece o’ figured muslin now,Steven Stamkos Tröjor, what’s the use o’ you lookin’ at it? You might as well look at poor folks’s victual, mum; it ‘ud on’y take away your appetite. There’s a yard i’ the middle on’t as the pattern’s all missed — lors, why,Tomas Plekanec Tröjor, it’s a muslin as the Princess Victoree might ha’ wore; but,” added Bob,Jakub Voracek Tröjor, flinging it behind him on to the turf, as if to save Mrs. Glegg’s eyes, “it’ll be bought up by the huckster’s wife at Fibb’s End — that’s where it’ll go — ten shillin’ for the whole lot — ten yards, countin’ the damaged un — five-an’-twenty shillin’ ‘ud ha’ been the price,Brent Seabrook Tröjor, not a penny less. But I’ll say no more, mum; it’s nothing to you, a piece o’ muslin like that; you can afford to pay three times the money for a thing as isn’t half so good. It’s nets you talked on; well, I’ve got a piece as ‘ull serve you to make fun on ——”
“Bring me that muslin,” said Mrs. Glegg. “It’s a buff; I’m partial to buff.”
“Eh, but a damaged thing,Buty Nike KD 8,” said Bob, in a tone of deprecating disgust. “You’d do nothing with it, mum, you’d give it to the cook, I know you would, an’ it ‘ud be a pity — she’d look too much like a lady in it; it’s unbecoming for servants.”
“Fetch it,Ralph Lauren Långärmade skjortor, and let me see you measure it,” said Mrs. Glegg,Derick Brassard Tröjor, authoritatively.
Bob obeyed with ostentatious reluctance.
“See what there is over measure!” he said,Dan Hamhuis Tröjor, holding forth the extra half-yard, while Mrs. Glegg was busy examining the damaged yard, and throwing her head back to see how far the fault would be lost on a distant view.
“I’ll give you six shilling for it,” she said, throwing it down with the air of a person who mentions an ultimatum.
“Didn’t I tell you now, mum, as it ‘ud hurt your feelings to look at my pack? That damaged bit’s turned your stomach now; I see it has,” said Bob, wrapping the muslin up with the utmost quickness, and apparently about to fasten up his pack. “You’re used to seein’ a different sort o’ article carried by packmen,Alex Chiasson Tröjor, when you lived at the stone house. Packs is come down i’ the world; I told you that; my goods are for common folks. Mrs. Pepper ‘ull give me
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