“Help lame dogs in cotton over stiles, eh wifie? Yes, I've had my dreams too. I'd go in for the poor children's holiday fund, that would be my extravagance. But we are no better than other people. And were you never afraid that we would grow selfish and pompous, and mean and pharisaical, like Huddleston, and maybe end in being Dodsons?”
“No, no, that is impossible!” cried his wife, “because, for one thing, we have loved, and, perhaps, Mr. Dodson never was loved, poor soul; and if things come to the worst, remember there is a good deal left.”
“There is something in that, Queenie; run over the inventory, and I'll check you.”
“First of all there is you, the truest, kindest, bravest husband in Liverpool....
“Stop; that is your own private property, and we were to go over our common means; besides, the valuation is ninety per cent too high.”
“You be quiet And there are two children whom every one looks at in the street, and who are the sweetest... Nobody hears us, so it doesn't matter, and you know they are. Wouldn't it have been far worse if we had lost Reggie when he had diphtheria? Well, we have him and Maud, and they never looked better.”
“That's true, wifie; go on; capital is mounting up.”
“Then there's your good name, which has never been stained. Nobody says you are mean, or hypocritical, or unmanly, or... anything bad; and if... you can't pay that money on Monday, every person will know that it was not your fault, and that you will repay all you owe some day, if you can.”
“Yes, please God, wife, we will... You think too much of me, but go on.”
“We have half a dozen friends, and, although they're not rich, they're true; and if we have to go into a smaller house and live very quietly, they won't mind; they'll just come closer, won't they?”