She winked again.
“Eh, but yo’re a young yorney. Yo’d best ax Mester Christopher that.”
“I think I’d best ask Mrs. Ashton that, if she’s in the warehouse,” rejoined he, sending his scissors through the gingham at the proper place.
“Yo’d better not, or yo’n cut off yo’r nose to spite yo’r own feace;” and the woman nodded her head knowingly. “T’other ’prentice knows whatn weaste means if thah dunnot; an’ manny’s th’ breet shillin’ it’s put in his breeches pocket, my lad.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” said Jabez, whilst he was counting over the already bundled up whalebone sticks, &c., to complete the umbrella fittings. “As our mistress would say, ‘We may live and learn.’”
He found that whalebone, ferules, handles, leathers, wheels, were all in excess. An extra umbrella might be made from the superabundant materials. Thereupon he wakened Christopher to do his own work, simply remarking that he thought the bundles of sticks, &c., had been miscounted.
“Oh, no, Clegg, they’re a’ reet; we’re obleeged to put in moore fur fear some on ’em shouldn’ split in makkin’ oop,” said old Christopher, cunningly, as if for his information.
Jabez took no further notice then, but shouldering a great bundle of large umbrellas, carried them through the fringe room, and there noticed that, despite the caution he had given, his fellow-apprentice was dexteriously manipulating silk and scales to falsify the weights he called out.