“Oh, he’s fine.”
“An’ yer mother?”
“She’s well too.”
“And yerself?”
“Dandy.”
“Good-bye.” Bramley plucked off his cap, bowed and walked quickly away.
“How, much are your eggs?” Freda asked a farmer.
“The cheapest they’ll be this here autumn, lady,” he answered indifferently, with scarcely a look at his intending customer.
“But that gives me very little idea of the price,” she replied.