“Juggins has got his rent to pay and is afeard of the bums,” said Nixon; “and he has got two waistcoats!”
“Besides,” said another, “Diggs’ tommy is only open once a-week, and if you’re not there in time, you go over for another seven days. And it’s such a distance, and he keeps a body there such a time—it’s always a day’s work for my poor woman; she can’t do nothing after it, what with the waiting and the standing and the cussing of Master Joseph Diggs,—for he do swear at the women, when they rush in for the first turn, most fearful.”
“They do say he’s a shocking little dog.”
“Master Joseph is wery wiolent, but there is no one like old Diggs for grabbing a bit of one’s wages. He do so love it! And then he says you never need be at no loss for nothing; you can find everything under my roof. I should like to know who is to mend our shoes. Has Gaffer Diggs a cobbler’s stall?”
“Or sell us a penn-orth of potatoes,” said another. “Or a ha’porth of milk.”
“No; and so to get them one is obliged to go and sell some tommy, and much one gets for it. Bacon at ninepence a-pound at Diggs’, which you may get at a huckster’s for sixpence, and therefore the huckster can’t be expected to give you more than fourpence halfpenny, by which token the tommy in our field just cuts our wages atween the navel.”
“And that’s as true as if you heard it in church, Master Waghorn.”
“This Diggs seems to be an oppressor of the people,” said a voice from a distant corner of the room.
Master Nixon looked around, smoked, puffed, and then said, “I should think he wor; as bloody-a-hearted butty as ever jingled.”
“But what business has a butty to keep a shop?” inquired the stranger. “The law touches him.”