“There, your honor, they have gone now. Now about this service, your honor?” said the old woman, impatiently.
“Well, it is no hanging matter, nor anything of the sort But it is a secret service for all that,” replied Everage.
“A secret service, your honor’s worship! Ah, that is what my heart delights in! Ah, then, I have done more than one secret service for gentlemen of the highest rank! aye, and for ladies too, bless them! and got well paid for them besides! enough money to have kept me in clover all my life, only it always got stole from me by the wretches in the house.”
“Well, you must take better care of the money which I shall pay you. But what was the nature of these secret services of which you speak.”
“Ah, your honor’s worship, if I were to tell you that they wouldn’t be a secret any longer, and neither would you trust such an old blabber as me with your secrets,” said the old woman, leering wickedly.
“That is so,” said Everage; “and, besides, this is no place for carrying on a private conversation. Here comes another group of people quite close.”
The group came and passed.
“Now, then, Mother Rooter, tell me where you live, if you have no objection, and whether I can find you at home if I come to you this evening, so that we may arrange this affair,” said Everage, as soon as the coast was again clear.
“Is it where I live your honor asks me? That’s a good ’un! Do you call it living? this life I lead. No, your honor, it is not living, it is lingering.”
“Where, then, do you linger?”