"Well, what did I say? Hold your jaw, will you, and not be halloaing at me that way? I know what I'm a saying of, and what I'm a doing of."
"I wish they'd given you something more with all my heart," said Crawley.
"We knows that," said the woman from the bed. "We is sure of that, your reverence."
"Sixpence!" said the man, scornfully. "If they'd have guv me nothing at all but the run of my teeth at the public-house, I'd 've taken it better. But sixpence!"
Then there was a pause. "And what have they given to me?" said Mr. Crawley, when the man's ill-humour about his sixpence had so far subsided as to allow of his busying himself again about the premises.
"Yes, indeed;—yes, indeed," said the woman. "Yes, yes, we feel that; we do indeed, Mr. Crawley."
"I tell you what, sir; for another sixpence I'd 've sworn you'd never guv' me the paper at all; and so I will now, if it bean't too late;—sixpence or no sixpence. What do I care? d–––– them."
"Dan!"
"And why shouldn't I? They hain't got brains enough among them to winny the truth from the lies,—not among the lot of 'em. I'll swear afore the judge that you didn't give it me at all, if that'll do any good."
"Man, do you think I would have you perjure yourself, even if that would do me a service? And do you think that any man was ever served by a lie?"