“What do you say?
“How much will it cost?
“There you are, Mr. Caudle, with your meanness again. When you want to go yourself to Blackwall or to Greenwich you never ask, how much will it cost? What?
“You never go to Blackwall?
“Ha! I don’t know that; and if you don’t, that’s nothing at all to do with it. Yes, you can give a guinea a plate for whitebait for yourself. No, sir: I’m not a foolish woman: and I know very well what I’m talking about - nobody better. A guinea for whitebait for yourself, when you grudge a pint of shrimps for your poor family. Eh?
“You don’t grudge ’em anything?
“Yes, it’s very well for you to lie there and say so.
“What will it cost?
“It’s no matter what it will cost, for we won’t go at all now. No; we’ll stay at home. We shall all be ill in the winter - every one of us, all but you; and nothing ever makes you ill. I’ve no doubt we shall all be laid up, and there’ll be a doctor’s bill as long as a railroad; but never mind that. It’s better - much better - to pay for nasty physic than for fresh air and wholesome salt water. Don’t call me ‘woman,’ and ask ‘what it will cost.’ I tell you, if you were to lay the money down before me on that quilt, I wouldn’t go now - certainly not. It’s better we should all be sick; yes, then you’ll be pleased.
“That’s right, Mr. Caudle; go to sleep. It’s like your unfeeling self! I’m talking of our all being laid up; and you, like any stone, turn round and begin to go to sleep. Well, I think that’s a pretty insult!