Then one of her hairpins drops into
the fireplace, and you rush to pick it up, and she rushes at the same
moment, and your head goes crack against her head, and you see some
stars, and a weary kind of sensation comes over you, and just as you
feel inclined to send for the cat's-meat man down the next court to
come and fetch you away to the Dogs' Home, in bounces your landlady,
and with two or three "Well, I nevers!" and "There's an imperent
'ussey, for you!" nearly bursts the patent non-combustible bootlace
you lent her last night to hang the brass locket round her neck by.
POTTLE says his landlady's different, but then POTTLE always was
a rum 'un, and nobody knows what old rag-and-bone shop he gets his
landladies from. I always get mine only at the best places, and
advise everybody else to do the same. I mentioned this once to BILL
MOSER, who looks after the calico department in the big store in the
High Street, but he only sniffed, and said, "Garne, you don't know
everythink!" which was rude of him. I might have given him one for
himself just then, but I didn't. I always was a lamb; but I made up my
mind that next time I go into the ham-and-beef shop kept by old Mother
MOSER I'll say something about "'orses from Belgium" that the old lady
won't like.
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