“Niver kiss the maid when ’e can kiss the mistress,” said Stalky, shamelessly winking at Mother Yeo, as he investigated a shelf of jams.
“Glad to see one of ’ee don’t want his head slapped no more?” said Mary invitingly, in that direction.
“Neu! Reckon I can get ’em give me,” said Stalky, his back turned.
“Not by me—yeou little masterpiece!”
“Niver asked ’ee. There’s maids to Northam. Yiss—an’ Appledore.” An unreproducible sniff, half contempt, half reminiscence, rounded the retort.
“Aie! Yeou won’t niver come to no good end. Whutt be ’baout, smellin’ the cream?”
“’Tees bad,” said Stalky. “Zmell ’un.”
Incautiously Mary did as she was bid.
“Bidevoor kiss.”
“Niver amiss,” said Stalky, taking it without injury.