“What’s going to ’appen this afternoon?
“I told you!” remonstrated his sister. “My new young man’s going to drop in for a cup of tea.”
“Which?”
“I never have more than one at a time.”
“You mean the one in the hat place in Southwark Street.”
“Bah!” said his young sister contemptuously. “I gave him the sack weeks ago.”
“You’re always a choppin’ and a changin’,” said Erb tolerantly.
“If you weren’t such a great gawk,” remarked his sister, bending to peep into the oven, “you’d put the knives and forks, and not sit there like a—like a—I don’t know what.”
Erb pulled a drawer underneath the table and complied.
“The other way about, stupid,” said the short girl wrathfully. “You don’t take your knife in your left hand, do you? ’Pon me word, I often wonder that men was ever invented. I s’pose you’ve been talkin’ yourself ’ungry, as usual?”