yawned the President of the Junior Curlton Club, who had a cultivated taste in such matters. "I wanted to hear about what you did visiting the 'districts' in England."
"Well, I was a comin' to that, Missy—but you're so 'asty—like all wimming. . . . Well, ole gaffer, 'e wants me to set-down-to-last wiv' im. . . .
"Didn't he think you'd last?" inquired Boodle.
"It's a manner o' speakin' among snobs, Missy," replied Bobball. "’E wanted to set me dahn to the cobbler's last. Sorter happrentice me to 'imself like—an' 'im pinch wot I earnt. But muvver says, 'No' She calls 'im just abaht wot 'e wos, an' says I gotter stop in our room wiv 'er a makin' matches. . . . When she got too ill to go out a charin', she set all day an' made matches—to fill our 'ungry bellies. . . ."
"Matches is bad for bellies," interrupted the Vice.
"Mummy says her mother was a regular match-maker," said Boodle.
Bobball guffawed.
"Quite right, me lord an' me lady," said he,
