Seven, Mrs. Rous.
MRS. ROUS. Seven--well, there! A tiny little thing!
MRS. YEO. [Aggressively.] Well, I was ten myself, I remembers it.
MRS. Rous. [Placidly.] The Company hadn't been started three years.
Father was workin' on the acid, that's 'ow he got 'is pisoned-leg.
I kep' sayin' to 'im, "Father, you've got a pisoned leg." "Well," 'e
said, "Mother, pison or no pison, I can't afford to go a-layin' up."
An' two days after, he was on 'is back, and never got up again. It
was Providence! There was n't none o' these Compensation Acts then.
MRS. YEO. Ye had n't no strike that winter! [With grim humour.]
This winter's 'ard enough for me. Mrs. Roberts, you don't want no
'arder winter, do you? Wouldn't seem natural to 'ave a dinner, would
it, Mrs. Bulgin?
MRS. BULGIN. We've had bread and tea last four days.
MRS. YEO. You got that Friday's laundry job?
MRS. BULGIN. [Dispiritedly.] They said they'd give it me, but when
I went last Friday, they were full up. I got to go again next week.
MRS. YEO. Ah! There's too many after that. I send Yeo out on the
ice to put on the gentry's skates an' pick up what 'e can. Stops 'im
from broodin' about the 'ouse.
MRS. BULGIN. [In a desolate, matter-of-fact voice.
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