“Dummies?”
“Yes, sir; the sugars on the shelves is all dummies—wooden 'uns, done up in paper! The herrin' tub is on'y got a few at top—the rest's all shavins an' waste.—There's plenty o' salt to be sure—but the werry soap-box is all made up.”
“And so's my mind!” emphatically exclaimed the deluded Wiggins, slapping the breakfast-table with his clenched fist.
“Jim—Jim—you're a honest lad, and there's half-a-crown for you—
“Thank'ye for me, sir,” said the errand-boy, grinning with delight—” “and—and you'll cut the missus, Sir!”
“For ever!—”
“Hooray! I said as how I'd have my rewenge!” cried the lad, and pulling the front of his straight hair, as an apology for a bow, he retreated from the room.
“What an escape!” soliloquized Wiggins—“Should n't I ha' bin properly hampered? that's all. No more insinniwating widows for me!—”
And so ended the Courtship of Mr. Wiggins.