“Mr. Rash told me so ’imself. I don’t know what 59 more we want than that.” Steptoe was not without his diplomacy. “It’s a fine thing for us, girls. This sweet young lydy is not goin’ to myke us no trouble like what the other one would, and belongs right in our own class.”
“’Enery Steptoe, speak for yourself,” Mrs. Courage said, severely. “There’s no baggages in my class, nor never was, nor never will be.”
Jane began to cry. “I’m sure I try to think the best of everyone, but when such awful things ’appens and ’omes is broken up––”
“Jynie,” Steptoe said with authority, “the young missus is wytin’ for ’er breakfast. ’Ave the goodness to tyke ’er in ’er grypefruit.”
“Jyne Cakebread,” Mrs. Courage declared, with an authority even greater than Steptoe’s, “the first as tykes a grypefruit into that dinin’-room, to set before them as I shouldn’t demean myself to nyme, comes hunder my displeasure.”
“I couldn’t, Steptoe,” Jane pleaded helplessly. “All my life I’ve wyted on lydies. ’Ow can you expect me to turn over a new leaf at my time o’ life?”
“Nettie?” Steptoe made the appeal magisterially.
“Oh, I’ll do it,” Nettie giggled. “’Appy to get another look at ’er. I sye, she’s a sight!”
But Mrs. Courage barred the way. “My niece will wyte on people of doubtful conduck over my dead corpse.”
“Very well, then, Mrs. Courage,” Steptoe reasoned. “If you won’t serve the new missus, Mr. Rashleigh, will ’ave to get some one else who will.”