“The winter an’ my not gettin’ work.”
A whisper came from the old lady by the hearth:
“Father can work, sir; oh! ’e can work!”
“Yes, I can work; I’m good for a day’s work at any time.”
“I’m afraid you don’t look it!”
His hand was shaking violently, and he tried to stop its movement.
“It’s a bit chilly; I feels well enough in meself.”
More confidential came the old lady’s whisper:
“Father’s very good ’ealth, sir; oh! ’e can work. It’s not ’avin’ any breakfast that makes ’im go like that this weather.”
“But how old are you?”