The woman smiled at him good-naturedly.
“From the country, I reckon?” she said, not answering his question.
“Ah,” replied Frank, “I be.”
“You’re a dillicate little feller to be trampin’ about alone seekin’ work,” she said, considering him thoughtfully. “Is yer mother livin’?”
“Ah,” said Frank again, casting longing eyes at a crisp roll on the counter.
“Then why don’t yer bide at home,” asked the woman, “and work there?”
“I want to get more wage,” said Frank, who was feeling hungrier every minute with the smell of the bread. “I’ll be obliged to yer if ye’ll tell me how I could git taken on at the factory.”
“You must go and ask at the overseer’s office up next street, where you see a brass plate on the door—name of Green. But bless yer ’art, we’ve lads enough and to spare in Wickham; I doubt they won’t want a country boy who knows nought of the trade.”
“I can try,” said Frank; “and I learn things quick. Schoolmaster said so.”
The woman shook her head.