“You shut up about Susie Duffy, or I’ll whack yuz up aside of the ear,” said Peter angrily.
“She ain’t like ma. She’s fat up here, and goes in like she’d break in the middle, Peter.”
“Great scissors! she must be a flyer,” said Peter. “I’ll bet she’ll make you sit up, Jimmy.”
“I’ll make her sit up,” retorted Jimmy, who came next to Lizer.—“She thinks she’s a toff, but she’s only old Melvyn’s darter, that pa has to give money to.”
“Peter,” said another, “her face ain’t got them freckles on like yours, and it ain’t dark like Lizer’s. It’s reel wite, and pinky round here.”
“I bet she won’t make me knuckle down to her, no matter wot colour she is,” returned Peter, in a surly tone.
No doubt it was this idea which later in the afternoon induced him to swagger forward to shake hands with me with a flash insolent leer on his face. I took pains to be especially nice to him, treating him with deference, and making remarks upon the extreme heat of the weather with such pleasantness that he was nonplussed, and looked relieved when able to escape. I smiled to myself, and apprehended no further trouble from Peter.
The table for tea was set exactly as it had been before, and was lighted by a couple of tallow candles made from bad fat, and their odour was such as my jockey travelling companion of the day before would have described as a tough smell.
“Give us a toon on the peeany,” said Mrs M’Swat after the meal, when the dishes had been cleared away by Lizer and Rose Jane. The tea and scraps, of which there was any amount, remained on the floor, to be picked up by the fowls in the morning.
The children lay on the old sofa and on the chairs, where they always slept at night until their parents retired, when there was an all-round bawl as they were wakened and bundled into bed, dirty as they were, and very often with their clothes on.