Nevertheless, Bernard mumbled, 'Shooting-gallery. And Mother Goldie vowed she would lug me up to Wilmet if I don't fork out!'
'Mother Goldie! You little disgusting ape! You've been tucking in what you owed in pies and tarts!' cried Lance, who was too constitutionally heedless of the palate to have any charity for its temptations.
'It's all Wilmet's fault,' said Bernard. 'She never gives one anything fit to eat. There was that beastly lamp out there went and got broke, and what does she do but crib it out of our grub! Now, Lance, was any living soul served like that before? She gave us only that beastly stir-about at breakfast,' (Bernard worked his single adjective hard,) 'no butter nor sugar at tea, and no pudding, except when there's that beastly mess of rice.'
'I'm sure I've seen pudding.'
'Oh! she came round when Felix came home. She knew he wouldn't stand it. Alda used to buy marmalade and anchovy on her own hook, so I don't see why I shouldn't.'
'Alda didn't go on tick, I suppose.'
'Serve Wilmet right if we all did. I don't believe there's a beggar so badly fed. Nares says—'
'You unnatural little sneak, you haven't been and gone and complained to him!'
'No; but all the town is crying out upon her shabbiness. They say it is a perfect shame how little butcher's meat she gets. Nares's mother and sisters do nothing but laugh at it, and Nares says nothing will make us comfortable but a bankruptcy. Hollo!'
For a well-aimed swing of the bolster laid him sprawling on the floor.