The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot (best beach reads of all time .txt) 📕

bit, till I’n got a matter o’ thirty pound to lay out, besides makin’ my mother comfor’ble. I should get more, on’y I’m such a soft wi’ the women⁠—I can’t help lettin’ ’em hev such good bargains. There’s this bundle, now,” thumping it lustily, “any other chap ’ud make a pretty penny out on it. But me!⁠—lors, I shall sell ’em for pretty near what I paid for ’em.”

“Have you got a bit of good net, now?” said Mrs. Glegg, in a patronizing tone, moving from the tea-table, and folding her napkin.

“Eh, mum, not what you’d think it worth your while to look at. I’d scorn to show it you. It ’ud be an insult to you.”

“But let me see,” said Mrs. Glegg, still patronizing. “If they’re damaged goods, they’re like enough to be a bit the better quality.”

“No, mum, I know my place,” said Bob, lifting up his pack and shouldering it. “I’m not going t’ expose the lowness o’ my trade to a lady like you. Packs is come down i’ the world; it ’ud cut you to th’ heart to see the difference. I’m at your sarvice, sir, when you’ve a mind to go and see Salt.”

“All in good time,” said Mr. Glegg, really unwilling to cut short the dialogue. “Are you wanted at the wharf, Tom?”

“No, sir; I left Stowe in my place.”

“Come, put down your pack, and let me see,” said Mrs. Glegg, drawing a chair to the window and seating herself with much dignity.

“Don’t you ask it, mum,” said Bob, entreatingly.

“Make no more words,” said Mrs. Glegg, severely, “but do as I tell you.”

“Eh mum, I’m loth, that I am,” said Bob, slowly depositing his pack on the step, and beginning to untie it with unwilling fingers. “But what you order shall be done” (much fumbling in pauses between the sentences). “It’s not as you’ll buy a single thing on me⁠—I’d be sorry for you to do it⁠—for think o’ them poor women up i’ the villages there, as niver stir a hundred yards from home⁠—it ’ud be a pity for anybody to buy up their bargains. Lors, it’s as good as a junketing to ’em when they see me wi’ my pack, an’ I shall niver pick up such bargains for ’em again. Least ways, I’ve no time now, for I’m off to Laceham. See here now,” Bob went on, becoming rapid again, and holding up a scarlet woollen Kerchief with an embroidered wreath in the corner; “here’s a thing to make a lass’s mouth water, an’ on’y two shillin’⁠—an’ why? Why, ’cause there’s a bit of a moth-hole ’i this plain end. Lors, I think the moths an’ the mildew was sent by Providence o’ purpose to cheapen the goods a bit for the good-lookin’ women as han’t got much money. If it hadn’t been for the moths, now, every hankicher on ’em ’ud ha’ gone to the rich, handsome ladies, like you, mum, at five shillin’ apiece⁠—not a farthin’ less; but what does the moth do? Why, it nibbles off three shillin’ o’ the price i’ no time; an’ then a packman like me can carry ’t to the poor lasses as live under the dark thack, to make a bit of a blaze for ’em. Lors, it’s as good as a fire, to look at such a hankicher!”

Bob held it at a distance for admiration, but Mrs. Glegg said sharply:

“Yes, but nobody wants a fire this time o’ year. Put these coloured things by; let me look at your nets, if you’ve got ’em.”

“Eh, mum, I told you how it ’ud be,” said Bob, flinging aside the coloured things with an air of desperation. “I knowed it ud’ turn again’ you to look at such paltry articles as I carry. Here’s a piece o’ figured muslin now, what’s the use o’ you lookin’ at it? You might as well look at poor folks’s victual, mum; it ’ud on’y take away your appetite. There’s a yard i’ the middle on’t as the pattern’s all missed⁠—lors, why, it’s a muslin as the Princess Victoree might ha’ wore; but,” added Bob, flinging it behind him on to the turf, as if to save Mrs. Glegg’s eyes, “it’ll be bought up by the huckster’s wife at Fibb’s End⁠—that’s where it’ll go⁠—ten shillin’ for the whole lot⁠—ten yards, countin’ the damaged un⁠—five-an’-twenty shillin’ ’ud ha’ been the price, not a penny less. But I’ll say no more, mum; it’s nothing to you, a piece o’ muslin like that; you can afford to pay three times the money for a thing as isn’t half so good. It’s nets you talked on; well, I’ve got a piece as ’ull serve you to make fun on⁠—”

“Bring me that muslin,” said Mrs. Glegg. “It’s a buff; I’m partial to buff.”

“Eh, but a damaged thing,” said Bob, in a tone of deprecating disgust. “You’d do nothing with it, mum, you’d give it to the cook, I know you would, an’ it ’ud be a pity⁠—she’d look too much like a lady in it; it’s unbecoming for servants.”

“Fetch it, and let me see you measure it,” said Mrs. Glegg, authoritatively.

Bob obeyed with ostentatious reluctance.

“See what there is over measure!” he said, holding forth the extra half-yard, while Mrs. Glegg was busy examining the damaged yard, and throwing her head back to see how far the fault would be lost on a distant view.

“I’ll give you six shilling for it,” she said, throwing it down with the air of a person who mentions an ultimatum.

“Didn’t I tell you now, mum, as it ’ud hurt your feelings to look at my pack? That damaged bit’s turned your stomach now; I see it has,” said Bob, wrapping the muslin up with the utmost quickness, and apparently about to fasten up his pack. “You’re used to seein’ a different sort o’ article carried by packmen, when you lived at the stone house. Packs is come down i’ the world; I told you that; my goods are for common folks. Mrs. Pepper ’ull give me ten shillin’