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Updated: May 26, 2025
As far back as he could remember he had had an unreasoning dread of coffins. Even now, big as he was, big enough to wear "'leven-year-old suits," nothing could tempt him into a furniture shop for fear of seeing a coffin.
"What does sich folks do when they git to hear of a case of misery and distress?" "They do what they can, Mr. Baines," said Selina. "Um!... If you heard Xenophon Banks was took sick of a busted leg, and his wife was dead these two year, and a 'leven-year-old girl was tryin' to nuss her pa and look after four more, what d'ye calc'late you'd calc'late?"
How old is he, Richard?" "About a year. He was given to me when he was just a little puppy." "And how old are you, son?" "Ten my last birthday, but I'm so big for my age I wear 'leven-year-old suits."
'Leven-year-old daughter's tryin' to carry him and four other childern on to her back, so to speak." "I'll go at once, Mr. Baines." Scattergood fidgeted. "Calculate Xenophon wasn't forehanded. Six mouths to feed. More mealtimes than meals," he said, and fumbled in his pocket. He was visibly embarrassed. "Here's ten dollars that was give me to be used for sich a purpose.
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