Volume Two—Chapter Three.
A Poor Judge on the Bench.
“Now he’s put out,” said Dick, looking puzzled at his wife. “I did not mean to upset him; but a man can’t lend another man what he hasn’t got, can he, mother?” There was no answer—only the clicking of Mrs Shingle’s needle against her thimble.
“I say a man can’t lend what he hasn’t got, can he, mother?” said Dick again, as he bent over some strange performance that he was achieving with an awl and some wax-end.
“I wasn’t thinking of that, Dick,” said his wife, with a sigh, “but of the money for the boots.”
“There, you needn’t fidget about that,” said Dick, throwing out his arms so as to draw the hemp tight; “for we shouldn’t have had the money if he had kept the boots.”
“Not had the money?”
“No—he meant to keep it for the rent. He said so.”
“There!” exclaimed Mrs Shingle. “Well, that comes of having your brother for your landlord. He’s as hard again as any one else.”