"Who got eighteen months?"
"Sarah."
"Ah, Sarah. She was tried to-day. So she got eighteen months."
"What's the matter? Wake up; you're half asleep. What will you have to drink?"
"A glass of milk, if you've got such a thing."
"Glass of milk! What is it, old man—not feeling well?"
"Not very well. The fact is, I'm starving."
"Starving! …Then come into the parlour and have something to eat. Why didn't you say so before?"
"I didn't like to."
He led the old chap into the parlour and gave him a chair. "Didn't like to tell me that you was as hard up as all that? What do you mean? You didn't use to mind coming round for half a quid."