A coarse-looking woman was seated before a scanty fire. She had just thrust a bottle into her pocket after taking a copious draught therefrom, and her flushed face showed that this had long been a habit with her.
"Well, Mark, what luck to-night?" she said, in a husky voice.
"I didn't sell much," said the boy.
"Didn't sell much? Come here," said the woman, sharply.
Mark came up to her side, and she snatched the box from him, angrily.
"Only three boxes gone?" she repeated. "What have you been doing all day?"
She added to the question a coarse epithet which I shall not repeat.
"I tried to sell them, indeed I did, Mother Watson, indeed I did," said the boy, earnestly, "but everybody had bought them already."
"You didn't try," said the woman addressed as Mother Watson. "You're too lazy, that's what's the matter. You don't earn your salt. Now give me the money."
Mark drew from his pocket a few pennies, and handed to her.