Jack Bates took up the money and the ring and stood there looking at 'er and trying to think wot to say. He'd always been uncommon partial to the sex, and it did seem 'ard to stand there and take all that on account of Charlie Tagg.
“I only wanted my own,” he ses, at last, shuffling about the floor.
“Well, you've got it,” ses Mrs. Cook, “and now you can go.”
“You're pi'soning the air of my front parlour,” ses old Cook, opening the winder a little at the top.
“P'r'aps I ain't so bad as you think I am,” ses Jack Bates, still looking at Emma, and with that 'e walked over to Charlie and dumped down the money on the table in front of 'im. “Take it,” he ses, “and don't borrow any more. I make you a free gift of it. P'r'aps my 'art ain't as black as my face,” he ses, turning to Mrs. Cook.
They was all so surprised at fust that they couldn't speak, but old Cook smiled at 'im and put the winder up agin. And Charlie Tagg sat there arf mad with temper, locking as though 'e could eat Jack Bates without any salt, as the saying is.
“I—I can't take it,” he ses at last, with a stammer.
“Can't take it? Why not?” ses old Cook, staring. “This gentleman 'as given it to you.” “A free gift,” ses Mrs. Cook, smiling at Jack very sweet.
“I can't take it,” ses Charlie, winking at Jack to take the money up and give it to 'im quiet, as arranged. “I 'ave my pride.”
“So 'ave I,” ses Jack. “Are you going to take it?”