“Did she say anything about terms?”
“She says she’ll leave that to you, sir, w’en you see the work.”
“Very well.” There was nothing to be got by argument. “Tell your mother I will try and find time to call on her on Friday evening.”
“Yes, sir. Nine o’clock would suit mother best.”
I made the appointment for nine, and gave the lad a shilling for his trouble. At nine o’clock on the Friday evening I found myself knocking at a dilapidated door in a long drab street of very squalid houses. The ferret-eyed lad let me in, and I saw, with considerable repulsion, my former acquaintance, seated in some pomp at a round table, containing a lamp, a wool mat and a family Bible.
She greeted me with a condescending nod, and the youth withdrew.
“Well, now,” I said, “ Mrs. Cutts, you have asked me to come and see you, and I hope you are not wasting my time, because I am a very busy man.”
This forlorn effort to establish my dignity made no impression on her.
“That’s for you to say, sir,” said she. “I wasn’t for intrudin’ on you. I am a respectable woman, thank God, and can maintain myself in my station by ’ard work, and never ’ad no complaints. Not but wot I’d be willin’ to oblige a gentleman if ’e was requirin’ my services, not bein’ too proud to do a favour.”
“Quite so,” said I, “and if you can do the work I want, I will see that it is made worth your while.”
“Wot sort of work was you thinkin’ of, sir?”