“Well, I really hardly know, sir; I dunno that I hardly understand. You want my house to turn into a—”
“A studio—a place where I can paint pictures.”
“I don't see how I can do without my 'ouse.”
“But I will compensate you—make it worth your while.”
“You see it is so near my work. Was I to go and live at Ada Terrace, I should, you see, be out of the way. If people want a job done they always knows where to find me.”
“Yes, but if I compensate you?”
Seeing that Frank was exciting the smith with too wild hopes of wealth, Sally thought fit to interpose. “Mr. Escott would require permission to make any alterations in the building he thought proper—you couldn't give him permission; he would in any case have to see your landlord. Who is your landlord?”
“I don't see how I can give up my 'ouse to be turned into a painting place; it wouldn't suit me at all.”
“If I make you sufficient compensation—”
Again the smith was reduced to silence. He scratched his head, and Frank watched the sparks fly, and heard the rhythmical sledge. “I wish he wouldn't talk so much about compensation,” thought Sally. “I don't know what the man won't be asking if Frank doesn't shut up.”