Smack her face, would she? What next? And all because she said the
water would have to be '_otted_. And Mr. Gammon wanted his breakfast
in bed, and--and--why, there now, it had all been drove out of her
mind by that Miss Sparkes.
Mrs. Bubb, the landlady, was frying some sausages for her
first-floor lodgers; as usual at this hour she wore (presumably over
some invisible clothing) a large shawl and a petticoat, her thin
hair, black streaked with grey, knotted and pinned into a ball on
the top of her head. Here and there about the kitchen ran four
children, who were snatching a sort of picnic breakfast whilst they
made ready for school. They looked healthy enough, and gabbled,
laughed, sang, without heed to the elder folk. Their mother, healthy
too, and with no ill-natured face-a slow, dull, sluggishly-mirthful
woman of a common London type-heard Moggie out, and shook up the
sausages before replying.
"Never you mind Miss Sparkes; I'll give her a talkin' to when she
comes down. What was it as Mr. Gammon wanted? Breakfast in bed? And
what else? I never see such a girl for forgetting!"
"Well, didn't I tell you as my 'ead had never closed the top!" urged
Moggie in plaintive key.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25