'I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler's stall.'
'And I, Tom, don't care a rush who knows it. Homo—something; but we never had much schooling. We 've thriven, and should help those we can. We've got on in the world . . .'
'Wife come back from Lymport?' sneered Tom.
Andrew hurriedly, and with some confusion, explained that she had not been able to go, on account of the child.
'Account of the child!' his brother repeated, working his chin contemptuously. 'Sisters gone?'
'They're stopping with us,' said Andrew, reddening.
'So the tailor was left to the kites and the crows. Ah! hum!' and Tom chuckled.
'You're angry with me, Tom, for coming here,' said Andrew. 'I see what it is. Thought how it would be! You're offended, old Tom.'
'Come where you like,' returned Tom, 'the place is open. It's a fool that hopes for peace anywhere. They sent a woman here to wait on me, this day month.'
'That's a shame!' said Mr. Andrew, propitiatingly. 'Well, never mind,
Tom: the women are sometimes in the way.—Evan went down to bury his
father. He's there now. You wouldn't see him when he was at the
Brewery, Tom. He's—upon my honour! he's a good young fellow.'