“Can you leave this?”
“It’s my dinner-time, sir.”
“Come on, then. I shall be very much obliged to you. Isn’t this more exciting than selling woollen shirts?”
“Yes, sir. Indeed. But shirts are useful things, sir.”
“I deny that. They are pernicious things. They are always getting dirty, and then some poor wretch with an immortal soul must scrub them in hot water. They are always losing their buttons, and then other poor wretches have to make new ones and sew them on again. They are always wearing out, and then other poor wretches have to begin the silly game again by penning up a few sheep and cutting their wool away.”
By this time they were outside the door.
“Come, Olivia,” he said carelessly. “We must walk to the docks. You will be tired to death before you get there.”
“Oh no I shan’t,” she answered. “I love walking.”
“Give me that package,” he replied.
“Now,” he continued to the shopman, “walk as though we were seeing the sights. Oh. Here’s a butcher’s shop. Now my captain would never forgive me if I came aboard without a leg of mutton.”