"Young!" said I, "why, I be ancient enough. I have gone through enough in my time to fetch out grey hairs in bunches. There was my poor wife that died ten years gone, and my daughter that followed her in the flower of her youth, to whom miss hath a most singular likeness. 'Twas that attracted me."
"You are a haberdasher, sir?" says the thin woman.
"'Tis my calling," I replied.
"Ah," she sighed. "And so 'twas my poor husband's that is at rest."
"He was engaged in an honourable trade," said I.
"You say truly. That he was," she assented, sighing.
But here uncle spoke for the first time. He was clearly no man of words, but the fat grocer had been whispering in his ears.
"We should want some warranty," said he.
"Warranty," said I indignantly. "There's my name, Samuel Hogg, of Bristol, and, for the rest, if it is the colour you wish, why I can satisfy you," and I brought out a purse full of King's pictures.
I could see that their eyes glistened.