“I was askin’ the price o’ your oranges, missus.”
“One penny apiece,” said the woman, taking up one.
“They ain’t biled to make ’em puff out, are they?”
To this the woman vouchsafed no reply.
“Come, missus, don’t be cross; wot’s the price o’ yer apples now?”
“D’you want one?” asked the woman testily.
“Of course I does.”
“Well, then, they’re two a penny.”
“Two a penny!” cried the small boy, with a look of surprise; “why, I’d ’a said they was a penny apiece. Good evenin’, missus; I never buys cheap fruit—cheap and nasty—no, no; good evenin’.”
It seemed as if the current of the small boy’s thoughts had been diverted by this conversation, for he walked for some time with his eyes cast on the ground, and without whistling, but whatever the feelings were that might have been working in his mind, they were speedily put to flight by a facetious butcher, who pulled his hat over his eyes as he passed him.