“‘Oh!’ I says, ‘and what may you prefer to spoon—duchesses?’
“‘Yes,’ he answers sulky-like; ‘duchesses are right enough—some of ’em.’
“‘So are servant-gals,’ I says, ‘some of ’em. Your hat’s feeling a bit small for you this morning, ain’t it?’
“‘Hat’s all right,’ says he; ‘it’s the world as I’m complaining of—beastly place; there’s nothing to do in it.’
“‘Oh!’ I says; ‘some of us find there’s a bit too much.’ I’d been up since five
that morning myself; and his own work, which was scouring milk-cans for twelve hours a day, didn’t strike me as suggesting a life of leisured ease.
“‘I don’t mean that,’ he says. ‘I mean things worth doing.’
“‘Well, what do you want to do,’ I says, ‘that this world ain’t big enough for?’
“‘It ain’t the size of it,’ he says; ‘it’s the dulness of it. Things used to be different in the old days.’
“‘How do you know?’ I says.