“I can’t Tom, my boy. There’s no credit there, and her ladyship keeps me so horribly short of money.”
“It’s too bad; but come, gov’nor. I’m not afraid of mamma, and I’m not nearly so big as you are.”
“But, my boy,” whimpered the old man? with a piteous look upon his face, “I look bigger than I am, but it isn’t all real: there’s a deal of padding, Tom, and that’s no good. That tailor fellow said I must have a lot of filling out.”
He drew out his pocket-handkerchief to wipe away a weak tear, while Tom looked at him, half sorry, half amused, laughing at length outright as the poor old man smeared something brown and sticky across his face.
“Why, gov’nor!” he cried reproachfully, as something round and brown and flat fell upon the carpet.
“It’s only a veal cutlet, my son,” said the old man, piteously, as he stooped and picked it up before wiping his face. “You see I didn’t know then that I should get the piece of tongue.”
“Oh, gov’nor, gov’nor!” cried Tom.
“Don’t scold me, my dear boy,” pleaded the old man. “I am so padded out. There’s much less of me when my coat’s off. But I’m nothing to what your dear mamma is. Really the way she makes up is a gross imposture. If you only knew what I know, Tom, you’d be astonished.”
“I know quite enough,” growled Tom, “and wouldn’t care if she were not so false inside.”
“Don’t say that, Tom, my boy. She’s a wonderful woman, and means all for the best.”