"I haven't got no money."
Mr. Vickers coughed. "Don't say that, Joseph," he urged, softly; "don't
say that, my lad. As a matter o' fact, I come round to you, interrupting
of you in your work, and I'm sorry for it--knowing how fond of it you
are--to see whether I couldn't borrow a trifle for a day or two."
"Ho, did you?" commented Mr. Tasker, who had opened the oven door and was
using his hand as a thermometer.
His visitor hesitated. It was no use asking for too much; on the other
hand, to ask for less than he could get would be unpardonable folly.
"If I could lay my hand on a couple o' quid," he said, in a mysterious
whisper, "I could make it five in a week."
"Well, why don't you?" inquired Mr. Tasker, who was tenderly sucking the
bulb of the thermometer after contact with the side of the oven.
"It's the two quid that's the trouble, Joseph," replied Mr. Vickers,
keeping his temper with difficulty. "A little thing like that wouldn't
be much trouble to you, I know, but to a pore man with a large family
like me it's a'most impossible."
Mr. Tasker went outside to the larder, and returning with a small joint
knelt down and thrust it carefully into the oven.
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