“Nonsense, nonsense, old woman. What’s put you out? Come, let’s have some supper; I’m ’bout pined.”
“Then begin,” said Mrs Banks. “Not wi’out you, my lass,” said Joe, winking at the great broad-faced clock, as much as to say, “That’ll bring her round.”
“I don’t want any supper,” said Mrs Banks. “More don’t I, then,” said Joe, with a sigh; and he got up, took off his coat, and then began to unlace his stout boots.
“Bless and save the man! wheer are you going?” exclaimed Mrs Banks.
“Bed,” said Joe, shortly. “Tired out.”
“What’s the use o’ me having sausages cooked and hot ready for you if you go on that a way, Joe?”
“I can’t eat sausages wi’out a smile wi’ ’em for gravy,” said Joe, quietly, “and some one to eat one too.”
“There, sit down,” said Mrs Banks, pushing her lord roughly into his well polished Windsor chair. “I don’t know what’s come to the man.”
“Come home straange and hungry,” said Joe, smiling; and the next minute, on Mrs Banks producing a steaming dish of home-made sausages from the oven, Joe began a tremendous onslaught upon them, after helping his wife, and putting a couple of the best on a plate.
“Just put them i’ the oven to keep hot for Daisy, wilt ta, my lass?” said Joe.