A tailor sat in his workroom one morning, stitching away busily at a coat for the Lord Mayor. He whistled and sang so gaily that all the little boys who passed the shop on their way to school thought what a fine thing it was to be a tailor, and told one another that when they grew to be men they’d be tailors, too.
“How hungry I feel, to be sure!” cried the little man, at last; “but I’m far too busy to trouble about eating. I must finish his lordship’s coat before I touch a morsel of food,” and he broke once more into a merry song.
“Fine new jam for sale,” sang out an old woman, as she walked along the street.
“Jam! I can’t resist such a treat,” said the tailor; and, running to the door, he shouted: “This way for jam, dame; show me a pot of your very finest.”
The woman handed him jar after jar, but he found fault with all. At last he hit upon some to his liking.
“And how many pounds will you take, sir?”
“I’ll take four ounces,” he replied, in a solemn tone, “and mind you give me good weight.”
The old woman was very angry, for she had expected to sell several pounds, at least; and she went off grumbling, after she had weighed out the four ounces.
“Now for a feed!” cried the little man, taking a loaf from the cupboard as he spoke. He cut off a huge slice, and spread the jam on quite half an inch thick; then he suddenly remembered his work.
“It will never do to get jam on the Lord Mayor’s coat, so I’ll finish it off before I take even one bite,” said he. So he picked up his work once more, and his needle flew in and out like lightning.