“There you are,” he cried at last. “That do?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” I said; “but—”
“That’s enough,” he cried sharply. “Here, hand over that sixpence. Money’s money, and you can’t get on without it, youngster.”
I gave him the coin, and he took it, span it up in the air, caught it, and after dragging out a small wash-leather bag he dropped it in, gave me a comical look as he twisted a string about the neck, tucked it in, and replaced the bag in his pocket.
“There you are,” he cried. “Small profits and quick returns. No credit given. Toddle; and don’t you come and bother me again. I’m a market grower, my young shaver, and can’t trade your fashion.”
“I did not know, sir,” I said, trying to look and speak with dignity, for it was very unpleasant to be addressed so off-handedly by this man, just as if I had been asking him a favour.
“I’m very much obliged to you,” I added, for I had glanced at the bunch of roses; and as I looked at the fresh sweet-scented beauties I thought of how delighted my poor mother would be, and I could not help feeling that old Brownsmith had been very generous.
Then making him rather an awkward bow, I stalked off, feeling very small, and was some distance back towards the gate, wondering whether I should meet “Shock,” when from behind there came a loud “Hi!”
I paid no heed and went on, for it was not pleasant to be shouted at like that by a market grower, and my dignity was a good deal touched by the treatment I had received; but all at once there came from behind me such a roar that I was compelled to stop, and on turning round there was old Brownsmith trotting after me, with his cats skipping about in all directions to avoid being trodden on and to keep up.
He was very much more red in the face now, for the colour went all down below his cheeks and about his temples, and he was shining very much.