“Go on!” said Jemima. “Any more about them, ma?”
“Well, my dear, I do hear as they ’ave come down a bit.”
“Oh, ah! lag!” put in the speaker’s son, a lawyer’s clerk in the receipt of two pounds a week, to whom this intelligence appeared particularly amusing; “we know all about that—never heard that sort of tale before, have we, ma? Oh no!” and the speaker emphasised the question by giving his widowed mother a smart dig in the ribs.
“For shame, Sam! don’t be vulgar!” cried the worthy lady; “how many times have I told you?”
“All right, ma,” replied the legal young gentleman; “but it is rather a wonner, you know. What were they before they came down?”
“Gentlefolk, so I’m told,” replied the lady, drawing herself up at the very mention of the name; “and I hintend, and I ’ope my children will do the same, to treat them as fellow-creatures with hevery consideration.”
“And how old is the babies, ma?” inquired Miss Jemima, whose gentility sometimes had the advantage of her grammar.
“The babies!” said the mother; “why, they’re young gentlemen, both of ’em—old enough to be your sweethearts!”
Sam laughed profusely.
“Then what did you say they was babies for?” demanded Jemima, pettishly.