With that the learned Scotsman buttoned his coat and went his way.
“How spiteful the world be!” said Mrs. Lobkins, after a pause, “'specially if a 'oman keeps a fashionable sort of a public! When Judith died, Joe, the dog's-meat man, said I war all the better for it, and that she left I a treasure to bring up the urchin. One would think a thumper makes a man richer,—'cause why? Every man thumps! I got nothing more than a watch and ten guineas when Judy died, and sure that scarce paid for the burrel [burial].”
“You forgits the two quids [Guineas] I giv' you for the hold box of rags,—much of a treasure I found there!” said Dummie, with sycophantic archness.
“Ay,” cried the dame, laughing, “I fancies you war not pleased with the bargain. I thought you war too old a ragmerchant to be so free with the blunt; howsomever, I supposes it war the tinsel petticoat as took you in!”
“As it has mony a viser man than the like of I,” rejoined Dummie, who to his various secret professions added the ostensible one of a rag-merchant and dealer in broken glass.
The recollection of her good bargain in the box of rags opened our landlady's heart.
“Drink, Dummie,” said she, good-humouredly,—“drink; I scorns to score lush to a friend.”
Dummie expressed his gratitude, refilled his glass, and the hospitable matron, knocking out from her pipe the dying ashes, thus proceeded:
“You sees, Dummie, though I often beats the boy, I loves him as much as if I war his raal mother,—I wants to make him an honour to his country, and an ixciption to my family!”
“Who all flashed their ivories at Surgeons' Hall!” added the metaphorical Dummie.