“She won’t want any supper,” said Mrs Banks, tartly, but she placed the plate in the oven all the same, and after pouring out some tea, set the teapot on the hob.
“But she may, my lass, she may,” said Joe. “Now, tell us what’s wrong,” he continued, with his mouth full, after pouring a large steaming cup of tea down his capacious throat.
“Tom Podmore’s been here,” said Mrs Banks. “Only just gone. Didn’t you meet him?”
“No,” said Joe. “Didn’t he say nowt about the row?”
“Not a word,” said Mrs Banks, looking up. “Was he in it?”
“Just was,” said Joe. “Saved me and the Maister from being knocked to pieces a’most. He’s a good plucky chap, is Tom.”
“Yes, and nicely he gets treated for it,” said Mrs Banks, hotly.
“Who treats him nicely?” said Joe, with half a slice of bread and butter disappearing.
“You—Daisy—everybody.”
“Self included, my lass!” said Joe. “He allus was a favourite of yours.”