“Will you go away if I give you something?”
“Go away? Oho!” whined the woman, wiping off a maudlin tear with the end of her shawl.
“Here, I say, don’t cry on the front-doorsteps. Come down in the hairy, where nobody can’t see you.”
“Driven away by my own boy! Oho, oho!”
“’Tain’t my fault. Doctor said you wasn’t to come, and if you did he’d send me away.”
“Then come home, Bob, to your poor heartbroken mother.”
“Walker!” cried the boy. “Why yer ain’t got no home to give a chap.”
“No home?”
“Well, I don’t call that a home, living up in a hattic along o’ old Mother Billson.”
“Oh, you ungrateful boy! Ain’t it enough for me to have come down so that I’m obliged to see my own son in liveries, without him turning against me.”