“Vich vun?”
“The one in the window, or I would not have troubled you.”
“Vell, dot means anyting you please. Sometimes I get olt granfadder vatches dot vay, and olt Sheffield plate and tings vich olt families sell vhen everybody is gone dead. Vy do you vant to give dis away? I vouldn't, if I vas you. You don't look like a man vot is broke. I vill put back de bottles. You take it home agin.”
“I would if I had any home to take it to. I am a stranger here and am two weeks behind in the rent of my room.”
“Is dot so? Vell, dot is too bad. Two weeks behint and no home but a room! I vouldn't think dot to look at you.”
“I would not either if I had the courage to look at myself in the glass. Then you cannot help me?”
“I don't say dot I can't. Somebody may come in. I have lots of tings belong to peoples, and ven other peoples come in, sometimes dey buy, and sometimes dey don't. Sometimes only one day goes by, and sometimes a whole year. You leave it vid me. I take care of it. Den I get my little Masie—dat little girl of mine vot I call Beesvings—to polish up all de bottles and make everyting look like new.”
“Then I will come in the morning?”
“Yes, but give me your name—someting might happen yet, and your address. Here, write it on dis card.”
“No, that is unnecessary. I will take your word for it.”