“Ain’t she losing ’eart yet?”
“I can’t say she is,” returned Mr. Lock, sorrowfully. “It only seems to make ’er firmer in mind. If you only knew how the soles of my feet was aching!”
“She still thinks I’m about, eh?”
“She’s sure of it. She says she ain’t going to give up looking for you till she’s found you, if it takes ten years!”
“There’s hobstinicy!” growled Mr. Dobb, dashed.
“One thing, she ain’t going to find you as long as I’m helping her to look,” said Mr. Lock. “So it’ll be a long job, anyway.”
“Thank you for nothing! I suppose you fancies yourself, walking about in all them la-de-da clothes with a attractive young female?” harshly suggested Mr. Dobb.
“I do,” said Mr. Lock.
“I—I wonder, Peter,” remarked Mr. Dobb, sitting up suddenly and striving to sound casual—“I wonder you don’t take up with ’er yourself!”