And Joe Banks went to sleep, and dreamed of seeing himself in a new suit of clothes, throwing an old shoe after Daisy as she was being carried off by Richard Glaire in a carriage drawn by four grey horses, the excitement being such that he awoke himself in the act of crying "Hooray!" while poor Daisy was kneeling by her bedside, sobbing as though she would break her heart. Volume 1, Chapter XIV. SIM SLEE SEES ANOTHER OPENING. "Here, just hap me up a bit," said Sim Slee to his wife, as he lay down on a rough kind of couch in their little keeping-room, as the half sitting-room, half kitchen was called; and in obedience to the command, Mrs Slee happed him up--in other words, threw a patchwork counterpane over her lord. "If you'd come home at reasonable times and tak' thee rest you wouldn't be wantin' to sleep in the middle o' the day," said Mrs Slee, roughly. "Ah, a deal you know about things," grumbled Sim. "You'd see me starved with cold before you'd stir, when I was busy half the night over the affairs of the town." "I'stead o' your own," grumbled Mrs Slee. "Howd thee tongue, woman," said Sim. "I'm not going to sleep, but to think over matters before I go and see Joe Banks this afternoon. I can think best lying down." Mrs Slee resumed her work, which was that of making a hearthrug of shreds of cloth, and soon after Sim was thinking deeply with his mouth open, and his breath coming and going with an unpleasant gurgle. As soon as he was asleep, Mrs Slee began busily to prepare the humble dinner that was cooking, and spread the clean white table for her lord's meal. A table-cloth was a luxury undreamed of, but on so white a table it did not seem necessary. When all was ready, she went across the room and touched Sim, who opened his eyes and rose. "That's better," he said. "I feel as tiff as a band now. Where's the Rag Jack's oil?" Without a word, Mrs Slee went to a little cupboard and produced a dirty-looking bottle of the unpleasant-looking liquid, one which was looked upon in the district as an infallible cure for every kind of injury, from cuts and bruises down to chilblains, and the many ailments of the skin. "How did you do that?" said Mrs Slee, sharply, as her husband held out a finger that was torn and evidently festering. "Somebody was nation fast the other day, and pulled me off the foundry wall." "Where you'd got up to speak, eh?" said Mrs Slee. "Where I'd got up to speak," said Sim, holding his hand, while his wife dressed it with the balm composed by the celebrated Rag Jack, a dealer who went round from market to market, and then tied it up in a bit of clean linen. "That's better," said Sim, taking his place at the table. "What is there to yeat?" "There'd be nothing if it was left to you--but wind," said his wife, sourly, as she took the lid off a boiler, hanging from the recking-hooks of the galley balk, and proceeded to take out some liquid with a tea-cup.