1
“Where’s the gels gone to?” asked Mr Gosling.
“Up the ’Igh Road to look at the shops. I’m expectin’ ’em in every minute.”
“Ho!” said Gosling. He leaned against the dresser; the kitchen was hot with steam, and he fumbled for a handkerchief in the pocket of his black tail coat. He produced first a large red bandanna with which he blew his nose vigorously. “Snuff ’andkerchief; brought it ’ome to be washed,” he remarked, and then brought out a white handkerchief which he used to wipe his forehead.
“It’s a dirty ’abit snuff-taking,” commented Mrs Gosling.
“Well, you can’t smoke in the orfice,” replied Gosling.
“Must be doin’ somethin’, I suppose?” said his wife.
When the recital of this formula had been accomplished—it was hallowed by a precise repetition every week, and had been established now for a quarter of a century—Gosling returned to the subject in hand.
“They does a lot of lookin’ at shops,” he said, “and then nothin’ ’ll satisfy ’em but buyin’ somethin’. Why don’t they keep away from ’em?”