“It aren’t nonsense, Master Luke Vine, and you know it. You want your bed made proper, and your washing done, and your place scrubbed. Now why don’t you let my gal come up every morning to do these things?”
“Look here,” said Uncle Luke, “what is it you mean?”
“She’s got into a scrape at Mr Vine’s, sir—something about some money being missing—and I suppose she’ll have to come home, so I want to get her something to do.”
“Oh, she isn’t honest enough for my brother’s house, but she’s honest enough for mine.”
“Oh, the gal’s honest enough. It’s all a mistake. But I can’t afford to keep her at home, so, seeing as we’d had dealings together, I thought you’d oblige me and take her here.”
“Seeing that we’d had dealings together!” grumbled Uncle Luke.
“Everything is so untidy like, sir,” said the old fish-dealer, looking round. “Down at your brother’s there’s everything a gentleman could wish for, but as to your place—why, there; it’s worse than mine.”
“Look here, Poll Perrow,” said the old eccentricity fiercely, “this is my place, and I do in it just as I like. I don’t want your girl to come and tidy my place, and I don’t want you to come and bother me, so be off. There’s a letter; take it down and post it for me; and there’s a penny for your trouble.”
“Thank ye, master. Penny saved is a penny got; but Mr George Vine would have given me sixpence—I’m not sure he wouldn’t have given me a shilling. Miss Louise would.”
Uncle Luke was already pointing at the door, towards which the woman moved unwillingly.