“Well, ’tisn’t my fault if he do. I never axed en to. I’m real fainty an’ porely to-day, Lizzie; couldn’t so much as go to church. Sit down, an’ let’s talk a bit. I seed yer father lookin’ arter me t’other night; I was walkin’ so queer, wasn’t I? I expect he thought I was lookin’ real bad.”
“No, I’ll not sit down,” said Lizzie. She planted her umbrella on the floor, and stared at the other girl for a moment without speaking.
“If he was to get another eye would ye look at en then?” she remarked at length, abruptly. “A mock un, I mane. They can be had easy, Policeman Blanchard says. No good to see out of, ye know, but jest to look at.”
“Oh, Lizzie, what a tale! He was makin’ fun o’ you.”
“No, he wasn’t. ’Twas to father he said it. He said he knowed a man Tipton way as had un—rale ’andsome—’andsomer nor his own. He wore it Sundays an’ ’olidays, an’ took it out week days for fear o’ accidents.”
“Well,” said Susan, consideringly, “if Tom were to get un perhaps I could forget it were a mock un; but he’d have to wear it always, that he would, else I couldn’t make believe ’twere real.”
“Well, I’ll go an’ tell en that. If he gets a real nice one ye’ll think on’t, won’t ye, Susan?”
“I dunno; I’ll see,” said Susan provisionally.
Lizzie marched towards the door without another word.
“’Tis a funny notion, though, yer takin’ it up like that,” cried Susan, suddenly awaking to the fact. “Be ye really goin’ to en now?”