“Some weeks.”
“Think o’ that, now! Dunno as oi bean’t that upset to tell you as arl my rooms be took, sir. But theer be ‘The Star’ down the street, comfortable and very ’ome-like——”
“Then you won’t take us, Mr. Bunkle?”
“Caan’t, sir! It bean’t nowise possible nohow or——” Mr. Bunkle paused suddenly, for in the circumambient air was a dull yet persistent knocking, a noise very difficult to locate, that seemed now overhead, now under foot, now behind the walls; hearkening to which elusive sound, Mr. Bunkle’s eye grew dreamy, he stroked his clean-shaven chin, he smoothed his neat apron and, the knocks having subsided, coughed and spoke:
“Two rooms, oi think you said, sir? Only two?”
“Two, Mr. Bunkle.”
“Why, then, if two’ll be enough, I think ... p’r’aps ... maybe we might ... manage it.”
Here three raps louder then before.
“Yes ... I be purty sure we can, sir.”