“Now, then,” said Mrs Pratt, “they’ve all had their teas; and you’re not to touch them, or give them a scrap. But have you had your dinner?”
“No,” said Shadrach; “only stayed my stomach with half a pint of four ale and a hot tater, at one; but I’ve brought a bloat—There, bless my soul! I always did say the tail of your coat is not a safe place, and if I ain’t been setting upon it. What a good job it was a hard-roed ’un. Not hurt a bit. Who’ll toast it?”
“Me—me—me!” chorussed some six or seven voices; and then the most substantial-looking of the family was picked out, and she began toasting till the fish began to curl its head and tail together, when the toaster happening to turn her head to watch the distribution of “dog’s bits” (ie scraps of bread-and-butter), the bloater glided from the fork, and had to be picked from the ashes and wiped.
But it was not so very gritty when done, and only made Shadrach think about the Arabs and the sandwiches; though, after distributing so many scraps, father’s share of bloater, or grit, was not large; and then up jumped the refreshed head of the family, and prepared for another start.
“’Tain’t much, eighteen shillings a week, with a family, is it?” said Shadrach, counting the money out in his wife’s hand; “but, never mind, there’s lots worse off.”
Mrs Pratt gave a shrug, as much as to say, “And lots better.” But, smiling again, she told what preparations had been made towards the next day.
“There, I can’t stop,” said Shadrach; “you must do it all. Goose, you know! Wait till it’s quite late at Leadenhall, and then you’ll get it cheap. They can’t sell them all out.”
Mrs Pratt seemed to think that the goose would make a fearful hole in eighteen shillings.
“There’s coals, and grosheries, and vegetables, and bread, and butter; and Ginger’s boots are in a sad state, and—and—”
Certainly, Ginger’s boots were in a sad state; but that was not of much consequence, according to the Countess de Noailles; and if she advocated bare feet amidst the aristocracy, she would have little pity for Ginger—domus name of Mr Pratt’s fourth son; for Shadrach was given to nicknaming his children in accordance with the common objects of his life: hence “Ginger,” “Pepper,” and “Spicy” were familiar terms for as many children.