“I am poor, dear—no money since I left off the other trade.”
“Well, then, I’ll buy you one.”
“No, dear, no; you are poor, and may soon want the money; but if you can take me one conveniently on the sly, you know—I think you may, for, as it is a good book, I suppose there can be no harm in taking it.”
“That will never do,” said I, “more especially as I should be sure to be caught, not having made taking of things my trade; but I’ll tell you what I’ll do—try and exchange this book of yours for a Bible; who knows for what great things this same book of yours may serve?”
“Well, dear,” said the old woman, “do as you please; I should like to see the—what do you call it?—Bible, and to read it, as you seem to think it true.”
“Yes,” said I, “seem; that is the way to express yourself in this maze of doubt—I seem to think—these apples and pears seem to be—and here seems to be a gentleman who wants to purchase either one or the other.”
A person had stopped before the apple-woman’s stall, and was glancing now at the fruit, now at the old woman and myself; he wore a blue mantle, and had a kind of fur cap on his head; he was somewhat above the middle stature; his features were keen, but rather hard; there was a slight obliquity in his vision. Selecting a small apple, he gave the old woman a penny; then, after looking at me scrutinisingly for a moment, he moved from the booth in the direction of Southwark.
“Do you know who that man is?” said I to the old woman.
“No,” said she, “except that he is one of my best customers: he frequently stops, takes an apple, and gives me a penny; his is the only piece of money I have taken this blessed day. I don’t know him, but he has once or twice sat down in the booth with two strange-looking men—Mulattos, or Lascars, I think they call them.”