'Now you begin to look like yourself,' says the woman approvingly.
'Now I begin to know my old customer indeed! Been trying to mix
for yourself this long time, poppet?'
'I have been taking it now and then in my own way.'
'Never take it your own way. It ain't good for trade, and it ain't
good for you. Where's my ink-bottle, and where's my thimble, and
where's my little spoon? He's going to take it in a artful form
now, my deary dear!'
Entering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the
faint spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from
time to time, in a tone of snuffling satisfaction, without leaving
off. When he speaks, he does so without looking at her, and as if
his thoughts were already roaming away by anticipation.
'I've got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and last,
haven't I, chuckey?'
'A good many.'
'When you first come, you was quite new to it; warn't ye?'
'Yes, I was easily disposed of, then.'
'But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your
pipe with the best of 'em, warn't ye?'
'Ah; and the worst.'
'It's just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was when you
first come! Used to drop your head, and sing yourself off like a
bird! It's ready for you now, deary.'
He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to
his lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe.
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