"Not I. But I'll keep self-respect in my people. The women shall have sixpence a day out of doors. The labourer is worthy of her hire."
"You'll never learn sense. You comed in the world to waste money, not to make it, as I've always told 'e. Sixpence a day for females! What next?"
"'Cast thy bread on the waters.' I'm a working Christian, and a lesson to you, heathen that you are."
"A working Christian ban't no better for being a fool. What's the sense of casting your bread 'pon the water while your wife an' maiden be hungry upon the shore?"
"Hungry! You're mad!"
"'Twill come to hunger. You'd spoil any market—a very good, open-hearted gentleman, us all knows; but sixpence a day for outdoor females! 'Tis all summed up in that. There ban't a outdoor woman in the world worth more'n fourpence."
"Ask their husbands. You're an old bachelor."
"'Ess—thank God!"
"Some sloes there are that even winter will never sweeten; and you are such a one. How fares the rheumatism?"
"A sleeping dog for the minute. He was gnawing his bone proper last week though. Maybe Dartymoor will lessen my pangs."