“A sight more than I want to! Haven’t I spent all my life, till the last two months, rearing chickens, and selling eggs?”
“Oh! Really! And how did you dispose of them?”
“To the gentry.”
“You did not kill them I presume?”
“No. I never had the nerve; but I plucked some of them with me own two hands.”
“Still, I suppose you made a good thing of it?”
“No then, I didn’t; though I had one lady, a big customer—till we fell out.”
“About eggs? A bad egg, eh?”
“No. There you are out. My eggs were the best. It was over a gold locket and chain.”
“How was that?”