“Foul—foul foul,” said Mr Jabez, with a dab at a stop he had missed before. “Those fellows of yours make more literals every day.”
“I’m always telling them of it, Rowle, always,” said Mr Grimstone, nodding his head sharply. “How does this boy get on?”
“Fairly—fairly,” said Mr Rowle, screwing himself round upon his stool, and gazing full in the overseers face. “Now, then, Grimstone, what is it?—what’s on the cards?”
“Oh, nothing—nothing. I only looked in. Give me a pinch!”
Mr Rowle handed his little brown box, and Mr Grimstone refreshed himself with a pinch before handing back the snuff to Mr Rowle, who also took a pinch loudly, and with a defiant flourish, while I took up a slip and a pen, and began to practise reading and correcting, a thing Mr Rowle always encouraged.
Grimstone had evidently come in for a gossip, business being rather slack, following a good deal of night-work and the finish of an important order; and after another pinch and an allusion to the political topic of the day, they seemed to forget my presence and went on talking.
“When’s the happy day to be?” said Mr Grimstone.
“What, Lister’s? Oh, I don’t know: soon, I suppose. Seen her?”
“Yes, twice,” said Mr Grimstone, giving his lips a smack; “beautiful!”
“So I hear,” said Mr Jabez Rowle; “plenty of money too, I suppose.”