“It was in my pocket,” said Isaac, slowly and seriously pointing to the discovered necessary covered with bread-crumbs, tobacco-dust, and flue.
“Now then, let’s have a bit more news,” said Matt, once more settling himself.
“Ain’t there a murder nowheres?” said Isaac, whose work was now progressing.
“No, there ain’t!” said Matt gruffly. “Nice taste you’ve got; but here’s two fires—p’r’aps they’ll do for you?”
“Ah!” said Isaac slowly, “let’s have them;” but again, to Matt’s annoyance, further progress was stayed by the entrance of a man to dispose of three pairs of old boots.
Old Matt crumpled up his paper and put it away in disgust, and as soon as the man had taken his departure he began to examine the boots.
“Ah!” he said, “nice trade yours—three pair of decent boots for three shillings; and then you’ll touch them up and sell them for five shillings a pair. Tell you what—I’ll give you a shilling and my old ones for this pair.”
“Why, you can’t wear ’em till they’re mended,” said Isaac.
“Can’t I?” replied Mat with a grim smile; “I can wear these, old fellow, which are a deal worse;” and he placed one of his old ones on the bench.
This was unanswerable, so Isaac only smoked.