"Joe, would you like to do that?"
"I'd sooner do anything--anything! I'd sooner sweep a crossing; I'd sooner be a shoeblack. I hear that some of them shoeblacks earn six and seven shillings a day when there's plenty of mud about."
"I don't think I should care for you to be a shoeblack, even when there's plenty of mud about. I'd almost rather you did anything than that."
"But there's nothing I can do."
Another pause; this time a longer one. Joe Lamb sat with his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his Sunday trousers; a frown upon his brow. The lady continued to smooth his well-brushed hair.
"Joe, suppose I were to see my way to earn some money."
"You! Are they going to raise you to fifty shillings, and give you a line to speak: 'The carriage waits,' or something of that sort?"
She suffered his ungraciousness to pass unheeded.
"Suppose I were to see my way to earn, say, five thousand pounds."
Mr Lamb, withdrawing his head from the neighbourhood of the lady's caressing hand, sat bolt upright in his chair with a start.