“You _will_ be jokin’,” said Bob, looking up with a laughing face; “I see’d you was a pleasant lady when I fust come to the winder.” “Well, put it me out,” said Mrs Glegg, peremptorily. “But if I let you have it for ten shillin’, mum, you’ll be so good as not tell nobody. I should be a laughin’-stock; the trade ’ud hoot me, if they knowed it. I’m obliged to make believe as I ask more nor I do for my goods, else they’d find out I was a flat. I’m glad you don’t insist upo’ buyin’ the net, for then I should ha’ lost my two best bargains for Mrs Pepper o’ Fibb’s End, an’ she’s a rare customer.” “Let me look at the net again,” said Mrs Glegg, yearning after the cheap spots and sprigs, now they were vanishing. “Well, I can’t deny _you_, mum,” said Bob handing it out. “Eh!, see what a pattern now! Real Laceham goods. Now, this is the sort o’ article I’m recommendin’ Mr Tom to send out. Lors, it’s a fine thing for anybody as has got a bit o’ money; these Laceham goods ’ud make it breed like maggits. If I was a lady wi’ a bit o’ money!—why, I know one as put thirty pounds into them goods,—a lady wi’ a cork leg, but as sharp,—you wouldn’t catch _her_ runnin’ her head into a sack; _she’d_ see her way clear out o’ anything afore she’d be in a hurry to start. Well, she let out thirty pound to a young man in the drapering line, and he laid it out i’ Laceham goods, an’ a shupercargo o’ my acquinetance (not Salt) took ’em out, an’ she got her eight per zent fust go off; an’ now you can’t hold her but she must be sendin’ out carguies wi’ every ship, till she’s gettin’ as rich as a Jew. Bucks her name is, she doesn’t live i’ this town. Now then, mum, if you’ll please to give me the net——” “Here’s fifteen shilling, then, for the two,” said Mrs Glegg. “But it’s a shameful price.” “Nay, mum, you’ll niver say that when you’re upo’ your knees i’ church i’ five years’ time. I’m makin’ you a present o’ th’ articles; I am, indeed. That eightpence shaves off my profits as clean as a razor. Now then, sir,” continued Bob, shouldering his pack, “if you please, I’ll be glad to go and see about makin’ Mr Tom’s fortin. Eh, I wish I’d got another twenty pound to lay out _my_sen; I shouldn’t stay to say my Catechism afore I knowed what to do wi’t.” “Stop a bit, Mr Glegg,” said the lady, as her husband took his hat, “you never _will_ give me the chance o’ speaking. You’ll go away now, and finish everything about this business, and come back and tell me it’s too late for me to speak. As if I wasn’t my nephey’s own aunt, and the head o’ the family on his mother’s side! and laid by guineas, all full weight, for him, as he’ll know who to respect when I’m laid in my coffin.” “Well, Mrs G., say what you mean,” said Mr G., hastily.