"It's all small, isn't it?" she went on. "About how much do the rents average? Three-and-six a week?"
"About that," he said. She was a shrewd guesser.
"I can't imagine how you carry the money about," she exclaimed. "It must be very heavy for you."
"I'll tell you," he explained. "I've got my own system o' collecting. If I hadn't, I couldna' get through. In each street I've one tenant as I trust. And the other tenants can leave their rent and their rent books there. When they do that regular for a month, I give 'em twopence apiece for their children. If they do it regular for a year, I mak' 'em a present of a wik's rent at Christmas. It's cheaper nor rent-collectors."
"What a good idea!" she said, impressed. "But how do you carry the money about?"
"I bank i' Bosley, and I bank i' Turnhill, too. And I bank once i' Bosley and twice i' Turnhill o' Mondays, and twice i' Bosley o' Tuesdays. Only yesterday I was behind. I reckon as I can do all my collecting between nine o'clock Monday and noon Tuesday. I go to th' worst tenants first—be sure o' that. There's some o' 'em, if you don't catch 'em early o' Monday, you don't catch 'em at all."
"It's incredible to me how you can do it all in a day and a half," she pursued. "Why, how many houses are there?"
"Near two hundred and forty i' Bosley," he responded. "Hast forgotten th' sugar this time, lass?"
"And in Turnhill?" she said, passing the sugar. "I think I'll have that piece of bacon if you don't want it."
"Over a hundred," said he. "A hundred and twenty."