Minnie looked suddenly at his face. “I’ll sew it now, Sid, if you like.”
“Let’s have breakfast first,” said Winslow, “and do things at their proper time.”
He was preoccupied at breakfast, and Minnie watched him anxiously. His only remark was to declare his egg a bad one. It wasn’t; it was a little flavoury—being one of those at fifteen a shilling—but quite nice. He pushed it away from him, and then, having eaten a slice of bread and butter, admitted himself in the wrong by resuming the egg.
“Sid!” said Minnie, as he stood up to go into the shop again, “you’re not well.”
“I’m well enough.” He looked at her as though he hated her.
“Then there’s something else the matter. You aren’t angry with me, Sid, are you?—about that braid. Do tell me what’s the matter. You were just like this at tea yesterday, and at supper-time. It wasn’t the braid then.”
“And I’m likely to be.”
She looked interrogation. “Oh! what is the matter?” she said.
It was too good a chance to miss, and he brought the evil news out with dramatic force. “Matter!” he said. “I done my best, and here we are. That’s the matter! If I can’t pay Helter, Skelter, & Grab eighty pounds, this day three weeks—” Pause. “We shall be sold Up! Sold Up! That’s the matter, Min! Sold Up!”
“Oh, Sid!” began Minnie.