With that the shop-door opened, and Nan stood between them. She had heard high voices, and at the first cessation of custom she came to see. “Uncle! Henry! What is it?” she asked, with alarm in her face.
“This is what it is,” said Butson, now near as purple as Uncle Isaac. “This ’ere uncle o’ yours, Mrs. Butson, or whatever ’e is, ain’t comin’ ’ere cadgin’ ’is grub any more; not so long as I got a say in it ’e ain’t. See? So now you better say good-bye to ’im if ye want to, ’cos ’e’s goin’, quick.”
“O yus,” said Uncle Isaac, speaking to his niece, but glaring at Butson, “I’m goin’, Mrs. Butson. An’ much better may you be for it. After what I done for you an’ all. Sort o’ gratitood I might ’a’ expected!”
“O uncle!” exclaimed the distracted Nan. “Why, whatever’s the matter? I know you’ve always been very good. Henry! What’s it all about?”
“About puttin’ a end to this ’ere bloodsuckin’, that’s all!”
“Bloodsuckin’!” exclaimed Uncle Isaac. “Yus, you know somethin’ about that! Pity ye don’t know yer trade ’alf as well! Then p’raps you’d earn yer livin’, ’stead o’ spongin’ on people an’ deloodin’ a fool of a woman to keep ye lazy!”
“Go on! go on!” commanded Butson, with increasing wrath.
“No, uncle, stop a minute,” entreated poor Nan. “Don’t, Henry, don’t let’s quarrel!”
“Go on!”