"Drat 'em!" she said, alluding to the writers of the letters. "Where's their eddication, as they don't write plain? If I were a Board School, which I ain't, I'd school-board 'em, with their curly 'p's' and 'q's,' as like pigs' tails as ever was, to say nothin' of leavin' the 'i's' and 't's' undone for want of dottin'. 'Ow do they expect 'em to be delivered straight wen I ain't no scholard to read their alphabets?"
"Mrs. Wevelspoke," said a full, rich voice proceeding from a lady on the outside of the counter.
"P-h'o-h's-t," spelt Mrs. Wevelspoke, slowly, not hearing that she was called, and not seeing that any one was present by reason of her back being turned; "that spells post, but it don't look like one. M.—that's for Mary, I dare say; M. J-u-h'l-e-h's; ho, it's for that Judas thing at Wosk's. If 'is name's Judas, why do he call himself G-u—"
"Mrs. Wevelspoke," repeated the lady, rapping her umbrella on the counter quickly, "is that letter for me?" The postmistress, having a faint idea that she heard some distant noise, turned round slowly, and saw Miss Varlins leaning forward with an eager look on her face.
"Is that letter for me?" she repeated, pointing to the envelope still in Mrs. Wevelspoke's hand.
"This un?" said Mrs. Wevelspoke, seeing by the gesture what was meant. "Oh dear, no, Miss Varlins. Your name ain't Mary—nor July, I take it."
"But it's Judith."
"What?" asked Mrs. Wevelspoke, deafly.
"Judith," said Miss Varlins, very loudly.
"Oh, your fust name, miss. You speak so muddled like, mum, as I can't make out your 'ollerin', miss. But if your fust name's Judith, mum, your last ain't—ain't G-u-i-h'n-h'a-u-d."