“Not to you,” said Isaac slowly.
“No, nor you, nor anybody, except the owner,” said Matt.
“Which is it to be?” said Isaac in intervals, between drawing home stitches. “Two bob and the old uns, or three bob wi’out?”
“Done up?” said Matt.
“Done up,” said Isaac.
“With new leather?” said Matt.
“With fust-class, well-seasoned leather,” said Isaac, cutting off his wax-ends.
“Take ’em at two, then,” said Matt, rising; “and I’ll tell you what it is, Ike, I put up with your smoke and your courting; but if you don’t make an end of choking me up with your confounded waste-paper, I’ll move, Ike—I’ll move.”
Isaac Gross smiled, faster this time, for he took his pipe out of his mouth to allow the smile to break into a grin; he then had a peep at Mrs Slagg, who was on the watch, having seen Matt outside; and then, as the old man made his way through the impedimenta of Lower Series-place, turning the note he had received over and over in his hand, and muttering as he went, Isaac’s hammer went on “tap, tap, tap,” till he was out of hearing.