Livres. Sols. Farth.
Ditto to me, E. M., for black for blacking coffin.................................... 0 3 0 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for supper after obs’quies........................... 3 2 0 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for wine (3 pots and 1 pt. at a shilling) for ditto..................................... 2 5 6 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for oil and candle.................................... 0 7 0 Ditto to me, E. M., given to the poor, as fitting station of deceased............... 4 0 0
The apprentice stopped. “That’s all,” he said.
There was a furious leer on the face of the Master of Burials. So, after all his care, apprentices would never learn to make mistakes on his side. “O my grief, always on the side of the corpse, that can thank nobody for naught!” was his snarling comment.
“What about those turnips from Denise Gareau, numskull?” he grunted, in a voice between a sneer and a snort.
The apprentice was unmoved. He sniffed, rubbed his nose with a forefinger, laboriously wrote for a moment, and then added:
Ditto to Madame Denise Gareau for turnips for supper after obs’quies ...................... 10 sols
“Saperlote, leave out the Madame, calf-lugs—, you!”
The apprentice did not move a finger. Obstinacy sat enthroned on him. In a rage, the Master made a snatch at a metal flower-wreath to throw at him. “Shan’t! She’s my aunt. I knows my duties to my aunt—me,” said the apprentice stolidly.
The Master burst out in a laugh of scorn. “Gaderabotin, here’s family pride for you! I’ll go stick dandelines in my old sow’s ear—respe d’la compagnie.”