“Now, it’s a funny thing that my laundress,” he shouted back, “can’t bring in breakfast things for more than one on that particular tray. She’s always complaining it’s too small, and says I ought to buy a bigger one.”
“Nonsense,” I exclaimed, “she’s quite wrong about that. You watch what I can carry in one load.” And I packed the tray with everything he had mentioned.
“What price that?” I said, putting the whole boiling on the sitting-room table.
The Reverend began to roar with laughter. “It’s ridiculous,” he chuckled. “I shall tell her it’s ridiculous. She ought to be ashamed of herself.”
Shortly after we had supper, previously having aroused Blake.
The drunken fellow seemed completely restored by his repose. He ate more than his share of the eggs and bacon, and drank five cups of tea. Then he stretched himself, lit a clay pipe, and offered us his tobacco box, from which the Reverend filled his briar. I remained true to my packet of “Queen of the Harem.” I shall think twice before chucking up cig. smoking as long as “Queen of the Harem” don’t go above tuppence-half-penny per ten.
We were sitting there smoking in front of the fire—it was a shade parky for the time of year—and not talking a great deal, when the Reverend said to Blake, “Things are looking up on the canal, aren’t they, Tom?”
“No,” said Blake; “things ain’t lookin’ up on the canal.”
“Got a little house property,” said the Reverend, “to spend when you feel like it?”
“No,” said the other; “I ain’t got no ’ouse property to spend.”