“Well,” said Mr Tulliver, speaking all the more cheerfully, that Mrs Glegg might see he didn’t mind her, “if Wakem thinks o’ sending his son to a clergyman, depend on it I shall make no mistake i’ sending Tom to one. Wakem’s as big a scoundrel as Old Harry ever made, but he knows the length of every man’s foot he’s got to deal with. Ay, ay, tell me who’s Wakem’s butcher, and I’ll tell you where to get your meat.” “But lawyer Wakem’s son’s got a hump-back,” said Mrs Pullet, who felt as if the whole business had a funereal aspect; “it’s more nat’ral to send _him_ to a clergyman.” “Yes,” said Mr Glegg, interpreting Mrs Pullet’s observation with erroneous plausibility, “you must consider that, neighbour Tulliver; Wakem’s son isn’t likely to follow any business. Wakem ’ull make a gentleman of him, poor fellow.” “Mr Glegg,” said Mrs G., in a tone which implied that her indignation would fizz and ooze a little, though she was determined to keep it corked up, “you’d far better hold your tongue. Mr Tulliver doesn’t want to know your opinion nor mine either. There’s folks in the world as know better than everybody else.” “Why, I should think that’s you, if we’re to trust your own tale,” said Mr Tulliver, beginning to boil up again. “Oh, _I_ say nothing,” said Mrs Glegg, sarcastically. “My advice has never been asked, and I don’t give it.” “It’ll be the first time, then,” said Mr Tulliver. “It’s the only thing you’re over-ready at giving.” “I’ve been over-ready at lending, then, if I haven’t been over-ready at giving,” said Mrs Glegg. “There’s folks I’ve lent money to, as perhaps I shall repent o’ lending money to kin.” “Come, come, come,” said Mr Glegg, soothingly. But Mr Tulliver was not to be hindered of his retort. “You’ve got a bond for it, I reckon,” he said; “and you’ve had your five per cent, kin or no kin.” “Sister,” said Mrs Tulliver, pleadingly, “drink your wine, and let me give you some almonds and raisins.” “Bessy, I’m sorry for you,” said Mrs Glegg, very much with the feeling of a cur that seizes the opportunity of diverting his bark toward the man who carries no stick. “It’s poor work talking o’ almonds and raisins.” “Lors, sister Glegg, don’t be so quarrelsome,” said Mrs Pullet, beginning to cry a little. “You may be struck with a fit, getting so red in the face after dinner, and we are but just out o’ mourning, all of us,—and all wi’ gowns craped alike and just put by; it’s very bad among sisters.” “I should think it _is_ bad,” said Mrs Glegg. “Things are come to a fine pass when one sister invites the other to her house o’ purpose to quarrel with her and abuse her.” “Softly, softly, Jane; be reasonable, be reasonable,” said Mr Glegg. But while he was speaking, Mr Tulliver, who had by no means said enough to satisfy his anger, burst out again.