“But,” said Andy, in unfailing good humor, “we are not what you suppose.”
“You mean to say you ain’t tramps? I’ll bet a ninepence that you’d steal the spoons, jest as soon as my back was turned.”
Peter was about to return an angry answer, but Andy checked him.
“We don’t want you to give us a dinner,” he said; “but to sell us one. I have money and will pay you in advance if you like.”
The woman—by the way, she was a close-fisted widow, who was always ready to turn a penny, but not to give even a penny’s worth away—was surprised and incredulous.
“Have you any money?” she asked.
“To be sure! How much shall I pay you?” and Andy brought out his pocket-book.
“A quarter apiece, I reckon. I’ve only got sassidges and pie for dinner, but it ought to be wuth that.”
Andy was not over fond of sausages, but the smell of them frying was particularly appetizing just then, and he very readily produced half a dollar and put it into the hands of the Widow Simpson.
“Step right in,” said the widow, with sudden civility. “Dinner will be ready in a jiffy. Here, you Mary Ann, dish up them sassidges, and fry some more. There’s two young gentlemen goin’ to dine with us.”