“Yes,” again said Piffingcap.
“George!” she bawled to someone from the doorway, “wher’d yer put my box?”
There was an indistinct reply but she bawled out again, “Well, fetch it off the rabbit hutch.”
“And a man like you,” she continued, turning again to the barber, “doesn’t think twice about half a sovereign, and me putting you in the way of what you want to know, I’m sure.”
And Piffingcap mumbled dubiously “No,” producing with difficulty some shillings, some coppers, and a postal order for one and threepence which a credulous customer had that morning sent him for a bottle of hairwash.
“Let’s look at your ’and,” she said; taking it she reflected gravely:
“You’re a man that’s ’ad your share o’ trouble, aint you?”
Piffingcap bowed meekly.
“And you’ve ’ad your ’appy days, aint you?”
A nod.