"Ah, it's a slave you want, Mr. Geoffrey, and peanut men don't have slaves—not unless they marries 'em, and a woman as would marry a peanut man has only herself t' blame—peanuts!"
Hermione laughed, reached for the rolling-pin, and immediately fell to work with it, her head stooped rather lower than was necessary. As for Ravenslee, he lounged in his chair, watching the play of those round, white arms.
"But why the kidneys, Hermy? You've got to cut out luxuries now, my dear—we all have, I guess; it'll be dry bread next, I reckon."
"Why so?" enquired Ravenslee lazily.
"Why?" cried Mrs. Trapes bitterly, "I'll tell you why—because me an' Hermy an' every one else is bein' squeezed dry t' fill the pockets of a thing as calls itself a man—a thievin' beast on two legs as is suckin' our blood, gnawin' our flesh, grindin' the life out of us—a great fat man as is treadin' us down under his great boots, down an' down to slavery—death—an' worse—it's such men as him as keeps the flames of hell goin'—fat frizzles well, an' so will Mulligan, I hope!"
"Mulligan?" enquired Ravenslee.
"He's raised the rents on us, Mr. Geoffrey," sighed Hermione.
"Raised the rents?" said Ravenslee, forgetting to lounge.
"Sure!" nodded Mrs. Trapes grimly. "I guess he thinks we live too easy an' luxoorious, so he's boosted it up a dollar per. A dollar a week don't sound a whole lot, p'raps, but it sure takes some gettin'; folks expects a deal o' scrubbin' an' sewin' an' slavin' for a dollar—yes, sir."
"We shall have to work a little harder, that's all, Ann dear."