“Heard the news, mem?” said Charles, raising the napkin he carried over his arm, and nearly wiping his nose upon it by mistake.
“No, Charles,” said Mrs Lower, peeping into the pot by raising the lid.
“The whole town, mem, ’s in a—”
“Take that pot out, Charles, and put in one cupful,—not more, the tea-kettle’s low, and the water’s all furry.”
“Yes, mem; town’s in a fermin, mem, and—”
“One cupful mind, Charles,” said Mrs Lower, interrupting him.
“Fermin, mem,” continued Charles, “and—”
“Bless the man, go and fill the pot!” exclaimed Mrs Lower. “No—no! not fill it—one cup, Charles;” and the waiter disappeared.
“And now what’s the matter?” said Mrs Lower blandly, as, somewhat ruffled and reticent, Charles brought back the pot, having forgotten that the most important matter to Mrs Lower at meal-time was the meal itself.
“Matter, mem—why, everything’s the matter—burglary and robbery, and murder almost; and all sorts, mem,” said Charles, again making a dash at his napkin, but recollecting himself in time in favour of a red-silk handkerchief.