“Yes,” said Mr. Mason. “Children is bits of ’eaven. I was a very large ’unk. I remember Mother sayin’ so when she found ’er boots in the oven. She didn’t put it that way, but . . . Besides, look at the burf rate.”
Amid shrieks of laughter, he was conjured to ‘give over,’ whilst a glowing Bob squeezed Ann surreptitiously.
“Oh, isn’t ’e awful?” panted Miss Gedge. “An’ when we’re out ’e does pass such dreadful remarks. Las’ Saturday afternoon a gentleman’s ’at blows off. ‘Stop it,’ cries someone. ‘Not me,’ says ’Erbert, ‘I’ve lef’ me gas-marsk at ’ome.’ ”
There was a gust of merriment. As it died down, a fat guffaw of delight announced Uncle Tom’s perception of the point.
“ ’E ought to go on the ’alls,” said Mr. Alcock. “Make ’is fortune.”
Mr. Mason shook his head.
“Why,” he said, “I should be stole in a week. An’ there’ld be pore Mabel——”
“I should worry,” said Miss Gedge. “But you can’t ’ave your ’Untley an’ eat it too, can you, May?”
“Not likely,” said May. “Look at pore Mrs. Stoker.”
“There’s a tregedy,” said Aunt Harriet. “An’ three children an’ all.”