“And yourself. How do you add to the general fund?” asked Sir Richard, becoming interested in the household management of Poverty.
“Well, I char a bit an’ wash a bit, sir, when I’m well enough—which ain’t often. An’ sometimes I lights the Jews’ fires for ’em, an’ clean up their ’earths on Saturdays—w’ich is their Sundays, sir. But Hetty works like a horse. It’s she as keeps us from the work’us, sir. She’s got employment at a slop shop, and by workin’ ’ard all day manages to make about one shillin’ a week.”
“I beg your pardon—how much?”
“One shillin’, sir.”
“Ah, you mean one shilling a day, I suppose.”
“No, sir, I mean one shillin’ a week. Mr Scott there knows that I’m tellin’ what’s true.”
Giles nodded, and Sir Richard said, “ha–a–hem,” having nothing more lucid to remark on such an amazing financial problem as was here set before him.
“But,” continued Mrs Frog, “poor Hetty has had a sad disappointment this week—”
“Oh! mother,” interrupted Hetty, “don’t trouble the gentleman with that. Perhaps he wouldn’t understand it, for of course he hasn’t heard about all the outs and ins of slop-work.”
“Pardon me, my good girl,” said Sir Richard, “I have not, as you truly remark, studied the details of slop-work minutely, but my mind is not unaccustomed to financial matters. Pray let me hear about this—”