Murchison’s face hardened.
“No, thanks very much. Your wife has come through it very well.”
The man put his paper down and held Murchison’s overcoat for him.
“Well, it’s a mercy, doctor, that it ain’t twins.”
“Not a double responsibility, eh?”
The lad winked.
“Why, there’s a cove bin writin’ in this paper as ’ow every man ought t’ have a woppin’ fam’ly. I sh’ld like to ask ’im, ‘’ow about the bread and cheese?’”
“And the beer, perhaps?”
“Ther, doctor, only two bob a week—reg’lar. That ain’t ruination. It’s a bit sweaty down in the coal-’ole. I give the missus most of the money.”
“So do I,” and Murchison smiled at the lad with something fatherly in his eyes.