“Not another? Oh, sir, say there ain’t another wanted,” said the head in a passionate Cockney accent.
“That is precisely what there is,” I replied. “I want——”
“What for?”
“For something moderate.”
“Well, that’s a comfort in a wiy. Which of ’em is it you want? The first-floor back?”
“I have no doubt the first-floor back would do quite well.”
My words had a curious effect. She scrutinised me suspiciously.
“Ho!” she said, with a sniff; “you don’t seem to care much which it is you get.”
“I don’t,” I said, “not particularly.”
“Look ’ere,” she exclaimed, “you jest ’op it. See? I don’t want none of your ’arf-larks here, and, what’s more, I won’t ’ave ’em. I don’t believe you’re a copper at all.”