“Bird’s wife never seems to have any good clothes at all; she looks as if she hadn’t a decent gown to her back,” said Frank.
“What she buys is mostly things for the little ’uns: shimmys and pinafores, and that,” replied Dovey. “Letty Bird’s one o’ them that’s more improvidenter than a body of any sense ’ud believe, Master Stirling; she never has a coin by the Wednesday night, she hasn’t. The little ’uns ’ud be a-rolling naked in the gutter, but for what she gets on tick off Jellico; and Bird, seeing ’em naked, might beat her for that. That don’t mend the system; the score’s a-being run up, and it’ll bring trouble sometime as sure as a gun. Beside that, if there was no Jellico to serve her with his poison, she’d have to save enough for decent clothes. Don’t you see how the thing works, sir?”
“Oh, I see,” carelessly answered Stirling. “D’ye call the pack’s wares poison, Dovey?”
“Yes, I do,” said Dovey, stoutly, as he handed Frank his iron. “They’ll poison the peace o’ many a household in this here Cut. You two young gents just look out else, and see.”
We came away with the iron. At the end of Piefinch Lane, Frank Stirling took the road to the Court, and I turned into Reed’s. The wife was by herself then, giving the children their early tea.
“Reed shall come up to the Manor as soon as he gets home, sir,” she said, in answer to Tod’s message.
“I was here before this afternoon, Mrs. Reed, and couldn’t get in. You were too busy to hear me at the door.”
The knife halted in the bread she was cutting, and she glanced up for a moment; but seemed to think nothing, and finished the slice.
“I’ve been very busy, Master Ludlow. I’m sorry you’ve had to come twice, sir.”
“Busy enough, I should say, with Jellico’s pack emptied on the table, and you and the rest buying up at steam pace.”