“Yes, though, that’s what Willie Quarrie is telling me. When a woman isn’t just running even with her husband they call her lumps in his porridge. Aw, Willie’s a feeling lad.”
There was a pause after this disclosure, and then Mrs. Quiggin said in another voice, “Peggy, there’s a strange gentleman staying with the Captain at Forte Ann, is there not?”
“Yes, ma’am; Mr. Loviboy.”
“What is he like, Peggy?”
“Pepper and salt trowis, ma’am, and a morsel of hair on the tip of his chin.”
“Tall, Peggy?”
“No, a long wisp’ry man.”
“I suppose he helps the Captain to spend his money?”
“Never a ha’po’th, ma’am, ‘deed no; but ter’ble onaisy at it, and rigging him constant But no use at all, at all. The Capt’n’s intarmined to ruin hisself. Somebody should just take him and wallop him, ding dong, afore he’s wasted all he’s got, and hasn’t a penny left at him.”
“How dare you, Peggy?”