“What I want to know,” said Barnes, the butcher, “is where he got his tenners from?”
Kilne shook a sagacious head: “No knowing!”
“I suppose we shall get something out of the fire?” Barnes suggested.
“That depends!” answered the emphatic Kilne.
“But, you know, if the widow carries on the business,” said Grossby, “there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get it all, eh?”
“There ain’t two that can make clothes for nothing, and make a profit out of it,” said Kilne.
“That young chap in Portugal,” added Barnes, “he won’t take to tailoring when he comes home. D’ye think he will?”
Kilne muttered: “Can’t say!” and Grossby, a kindly creature in his way, albeit a creditor, reverting to the first subject of their discourse, ejaculated, “But what a one he was!—eh?”
“Fine!—to look on,” Kilne assented.
“Well, he was like a Marquis,” said Barnes.