“A widow!” divined Mr. Tridge.
“A old widow, and a bit of a pal of my missis’s,” supplemented Mr. Dobb.
“Ah, I guessed there was a catch somewhere!” sourly stated Mr. Tridge. “Well, I ain’t going to get married, see? I ain’t at all the marrying sort. I prefers to remain single, thank you. Besides which, I’ve got one somewhere, already.”
“That’s all right, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb, soothingly. “I expect she’d turn up ’er eyes at you in ’oly ’orror in any case. She’s a pillar of temp’rance, Joe, and a anti-smoker and a anti-gambler, and all the rest of it.”
“No wonder she’s a widow!” softly commented Mr. Lock.
“And, anyway,” said Mr. Tridge, churlishly, “I don’t want no business dealings with a woman like that!”
“You won’t see ’er often, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb. “She only comes into Shore’aven once a month or so, just to collect the rents of a few cottages she’s got. Comes in for the day, she does, settles ’er business, gets a cheap tea along of my missis, and back she goes ’ome, a good three miles away.”
“Well, where do I come in?” asked Mr. Tridge.
“You comes in at one hundred and twenty-one, ’Igh Street,” replied Mr. Dobb. “That belongs to ’er. It’s a little, tiny, squeezed-in shop what she owns. It’s a barber’s shop.”
“I see. And I’m to be the hassistant,” surmised Mr. Tridge.