'No mother; I can't say about father. I remember _him_ before the young uns was born. He lived in this alley, and used to come into the shop and leave his wife's things, and talk about the rights of man. The rights of man! I tell you what he thought of them: a little while before his wife was brought to bed, he cut away and left her. She was brought to bed with twins--girls--and after that, she died.' 'Then Blade-o'-Grass has a sister?' 'Who said she 'as? I didn't. No, she ain't got a sister. I don't know what came o' the other; but that don't matter to Blade-o'-Grass. Here _she_ is, poor little devil, and that's enough for her, and more than enough, I'll take my davy on. Time's up.' This was an intimation that it was time for Mr. Merrywhistle to take his departure. Wishing to stand well in the eyes of Jimmy Virtue--notwithstanding the dreadful effect the glass eye had upon him--he rose, and said that he hoped they would meet again; to which Jimmy Virtue said, that _he_ had no objection. 'What do you say, now,' suggested Mr. Merrywhistle, 'to you and your friend that you would like to talk to me coming to take a cup of tea or a bit of dinner with me?' 'Which?' asked Jimmy Virtue. 'Tea I don't care for.' 'Dinner, then.' 'A good dinner?' 'Yes.' 'Wine?' 'Yes.' Something very like a twinkle shone in the old man's fierce eye. He rubbed his hand over his chin, and said, 'It's worth considerin' on.--When?' 'Next Saturday; any time in the afternoon you like to name.' 'That ud suit my friend,' said Jimmy Virtue, evidently impressed by the prospect of a good dinner; 'he leaves off work a Saturdays at two o'clock----' 'Then we'll consider it settled,' said Mr. Merrywhistle eagerly. '----But I don't know that it ud suit _me_,' continued Jimmy, the twinkle vanishing, and a calculating look taking its place. 'There's the shop. I'd 'ave to shut it up--and then what would the customers do? To be sure, I could put up a notice sayin' that it ud be open at nine o'clock. I keep open till twelve Saturday night.' 'Very well; manage it that way.' 'I think you told me that you was Nothink Particular when I asked you what you was, and bein' Nothink Particular, time's no account to you. Now it _is_ some account to me--it's money.' Here he turned his blind eye to Mr. Merrywhistle. 'If you want me to shut up my shop for six hours, say, you must make it up to me. If you want Jimmy Wirtue's company, you must pay for Jimmy Wirtue's time.' 'That's fair enough,' said Mr. Merrywhistle readily, scarcely hearing the suppressed chuckle to which Jimmy Virtue gave vent at the answer. 'What do you value your time at? 'Sixpence an hour--three shillings for the six hours. Then there's the disappointment to the customers, and the injury to the business; but I'll throw them in.'