“Umberrelly? Bless the dear gentleman, I never had a umberrelly in my life! How should the likes of me have a umberrelly? They bees for the rich people, honey.”
“But your knees are getting quite wet,” said Everage.
“And so they is, dear gentleman, and I shall get the rheumatiz as sure as sure!” said the woman, taking the cue and beginning to whine.
“I shouldn’t be surprised if you did. Why do you sit out here in this weather?”
“Good gentleman, hadn’t I better sit here and sell my matches than stay at home and starve?”
“Sell your matches? Why, that’s the identical box of matches you have had to sell for Heaven knows how long, and you haven’t sold it yet.”
“That is true; but, dear gentleman, I might sell them to-day—I might sell them any time! There is no telling when a stroke of luck might fall.”
Everage knew she was speaking deceitfully; but he not only found excuses for her, but he found in her words an opening for his proposition.
“Yes,” said he, “you are quite right. There is no telling when a streak of luck may fall—even this very day.”
“It has come this very day, good gentleman. Sure the sight of your handsome face is always lucky; and it is worth while to come out and sit in the rain for the chance of seeing it, if one should get no other good.”