‘Oh, a littlish girl—yellow hair, you know—one of them that look as if they didn’t weigh half-a-stone.’
‘I’ll throw this parsnip at you, Mr. Snowdon!’
‘What’s up now. You don’t call yourself littlish, do you?’
Clem snapped the small end off the vegetable she was paring, and aimed it at his head. He ducked just in time. Then there was an outburst of laughter from both.
‘Say, Clem, you haven’t got a glass of beer in the house?’
‘You’ll have to wait till openin’ time,’ replied the girl sourly, going away to the far end of the room.
‘Have I offended you, Clem?’
‘Offended, indeed. As if I cared what you say!’
‘Do you care what I think?’
‘Not I!’