Oh! they are a
bad yarn, John."
"They do us all, widow. They pretends to give the same wages
as the rest, and works it out in fines. You can't come, and
you can't go, but there's a fine; you're never paid wages, but
there's a bate ticket. I've heard they keep their whole
establishment on factory fines."
"Soul alive, but those Shuffle and Screw are rotten, snickey,
bad yarns," said Mistress Carey. "Now ma'am, if you please;
fi'pence ha'penny; no, ma'am, we've no weal left. Weal,
indeed! you look very like a soul as feeds on weal," continued
Mrs Carey in an under tone as her declining customer moved
away. "Well, it gets late," said the widow, "and if you like
to take this scrag end home to your wife neighbour Hill, we
can talk of the rest next Saturday. And what's your will,
sir?" said the widow with a stern expression to a youth who
now stopped at her stall.
He was about sixteen, with a lithe figure, and a handsome,
faded, impudent face. His long, loose, white trousers gave
him height; he had no waistcoat, but a pink silk handkerchief
was twisted carelessly round his neck, and fastened with a
very large pin, which, whatever were its materials, had
unquestionably a very gorgeous appearance.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166