"What a capital idea! You will find ours in a terrible state, I'm afraid."
"Yes, it is rather bad; I was talking about it to the boss before I started to make a fool of myself."
"To the boss, do you say?"
"Yes."
"And pray which is he?"
The piano-tuner pointed to the bushy red beard.
"Why, bless your life," cried Naomi Pryse, as the red beard split across and showed its teeth, "he's not the boss! Don't you believe it. If you've anything to say to the boss, you'd better come outside and say it."
"But which is he, Miss Pryse?"
"He's a she, and you're talking to her now, Mr. Engelhardt!"