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I must have been right, for as soon as our introduction was over and I
had interrupted Mrs. Oliver's praises of my baby's beauty by speaking
about material matters, saying the terms were to be four shillings, the
man, who had seated himself on the sofa to put on his boots said, in a
voice that was like a shot out of a blunderbus:
"Five."
"How'd you mean, Ted?" said Mrs. Oliver, timidly. "Didn't we say four?"
"Five," said the man again, with a still louder volume of voice.
I could see that the poor woman was trembling, but assuming the sweet
air of persons who live in a constant state of fear, she said:
"Oh yes. It _was_ five, now I remember."
I reminded her that her letter had said four, but she insisted that I
must be mistaken, and when I told her I had the letter with me and she
could see it if she wished, she said:
"Then it must have been a slip of the pen in a manner of speaking,
ma'am. We allus talked of five. Didn't we, Ted?"
"Certainly," said her husband, who was still busy with his boots.


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