“I say, Ned,” observed one of these roughs (a lively one), who was very rough indeed, to a companion, who was rougher still and gloomy, “look at that there gal cleanin’ of her steps with a fire-shovel! Ain’t that economy gone mad? Hallo, young ’ooman, what’s the use o’ trying to do it with a teaspoon, when there’s Ned and me ready to do it with our shovels for next to nothin’?”
The servant-girl declined the assistance thus liberally offered, so the two men moved slowly on, looking from side to side as they went, in expectation of employment, while a small boy, in a man’s hat, who walked behind them, nodded to the girl, and said she was a “sensible thrifty gal,” and that she might be sure there was “some feller unknown who would bless the day he was born after he’d got her.”
Fifty yards farther on, a stout, red-faced, elderly gentleman was observed to look out at the street door and frown at things in general.
“Have your door-steps cleaned, sir?” asked the lively rough, taking the shovel off his shoulder.
The elderly gentleman being angry, on private and unknown grounds (perhaps bad digestion), vouchsafed no reply, but looked up at the sky and then over the way.
“Do it cheap, sir,” said the lively rough.
“No!” said the elderly gentleman, with a sort of snapping look, as he turned his gaze up the street and then down it.
“Snow’s wery deep on the steps, sir,” said the rough.
“D’you suppose I’m an ass?” exclaimed the elderly gentleman, in a sudden burst.
“Well, sir,” said the lively rough, in the grave tone and manner of one who has had a difficult question in philosophy put to him, “well, sir, I don’t know about that.”