Mr Blurt looked over the top of his desk in surprise, for the owner of the voice was not visible. Getting down from his stool, and coming out of his den, he observed the pretty face and dishevelled head of a little girl not much higher than the counter.
“Please, sir,” she said, “can you change ’alf a sov?”
“No, I can’t,” said Mr Blurt, so gruffly that the small girl retired in haste.
“Stay! come here,” cried the repentant shopman. The child returned with some hesitation.
“Who trusted you with half a sov?”
“Miss Lillycrop, sir.”
“And who’s Miss Lillycrop?”
“My missis, sir.”
“Does your missis think that I’m a banker?” demanded Mr Blurt sternly.
“I dun know, sir.”