“Yes, you would,” said her husband, throwing back. “When you saw the people bein’ groun’ to powder an’ the rich swillin’ idow.”
The reference was obscure. Possibly Mr. Allen was imperfectly remembering the fate of the Golden Calf and confusing his allusion with the imagery of oppression.
For all that, it carried.
“That’s true,” said Uncle Tom soberly.
“Is the distress very prenaounced?” said Aunt Harriet.
“Wicked,” said Mr. Allen. “Women an’ children’s life-blood is bein’ suggaway.”
As though to neutralize such drainage, he drank deep and mournfully.
“Wot’s four poun’ ten?” he continued. “ ’Ow far does that go? ‘Ho,’ they says, ‘but look at wot you ’ad before the War. Why, we’ve doubled your pay,’ they says. Per’aps. But wot they don’ say is, ‘An’ we’re chargin’ you double, too, for the necesserities of life.’ An’ you ask if there’s blussuggy goanon.”
“But surely,” said Bob, “it ain’t the blokes as pays the wages as shoves the prices up. They ’as to fork out, too.”
Mr. Allen braced himself.