"A nice little pype," he rejoined. "This wy, is it?"
The patter of feet in the oil-clothed passage roused Jessie to a frenzied excitement. When the two opened the door of the sitting-room, the little creature, planted tree-like upon her four tiny feet, was barking her dog life into the air. Cuckoo, entering first, snatched her up and gave her a sudden, vehement kiss.
It was good-bye.
Then she turned and faced the old man, who had paused in the doorway. She held Jessie silently towards him. Transferring the strings held in his right hand to his left, he took the wriggling dog from Cuckoo, lifted her up and down as if considering her weight, ran his eyes over her points with the quick decision of knowledge.
"'Ardly a show dawg, lydy," he said.
Cuckoo flamed at him.
"She is, she is," she cried vehemently, all her passion trying to find a vent in the words. "You shan't have her, you shan't have her, you shan't if—"
"Neow, neow; I ain't sying nothink ag'in 'er," he interposed. "She's a pretty dawg, a very pretty dawg. 'Ow much do yer sy, lydy?"
Cuckoo sickened. She looked away. She could not have met the eyes of
Jessie at that moment.
"'Ow much, then?" repeated the old man, still weighing the whining Jessie up and down.