"Been paddlin'?" he inquired.
Mrs. Jobson, safe in her doorway, drew herself up and, holding the boots behind her, surveyed him with a stare of high-bred disdain.
"Been paddlin'?" he inquired
"I see you going down the road in 'em," said the unabashed Mr. Foley, "and I says to myself, I says, 'Pride'll bear a pinch, but she's going too far. If she thinks that she can squeedge those little tootsywootsies of 'ers into them boo—'"
The door slammed violently and left him exchanging grins with Mr. Jobson.
"How's the 'at?" he inquired.
Mr. Jobson winked. "Bet you a level 'arf-dollar I ain't wearing it next Sunday," he said, in a hoarse whisper.
Mr. Foley edged away.