Another piece of good-humoured cheek.
"I suppose you couldn't step in to-morrow?" the bookseller suggested, after considerable groping and spilling of tallow.
"Afraid not," said the customer with polite reluctance. "Very busy ... I was just passing and it struck me."
"The Globe edition is very good, you know ... Standard text. Macmillans. Nothing better of the sort. I could sell you that for three-and-six."
"Sounds promising," said the customer brightly.
The bookseller blew out the candle and dusted one hand with the other.
"Of course it's not illustrated."
"Oh, well, after all, a Shakspere's for reading, isn't it?" said the customer, for whom Shakspere was a volume, not a man.
While the bookseller was wrapping up the green Globe Shakspere in a creased bit of brown paper with an addressed label on it—he put the label inside—the customer cleared his throat and said with a nervous laugh:
"I think you employ here a young charwoman, don't you?"