Over the fragments of a
blue delf bowl Mrs. Brown sighed deeply.
"I wish you'd broken _anything_ but this, William."
"Well," he excused himself, "you said things _do_ get broken removin'.
You said so _yourself_! I didn't break it on purpose. It jus' got
broken removin'."
At this point the removers arrived.
There were three of them. One was very fat and jovial, and one was
thin and harassed-looking, and a third wore a sheepish smile and
walked with a slightly unsteady gait. They made profuse apologies for
their lateness.
"You'd better begin with the dining-room," said Mrs. Brown. "Will you
pack the china first? William, get out of the _way_!"
She left them packing, assisted by William. William carried the things
to them from the sideboard cupboards.
"What's your names?" he asked, as he stumbled over a glass bowl that
he had inadvertently left on the hearth-rug. His progress was further
delayed while he conscientiously picked up the fragments. "Things _do_
get broken removin'," he murmured.
"Mine is Mister Blake and 'is is Mister Johnson, and 'is is Mister
Jones."
"Which is Mr. Jones? The one that walks funny?"
They shook with herculean laughter, so much so that a china cream jug
slipped from Mr. Blake's fingers and lay in innumerable pieces round
his boot. He kicked it carelessly aside.
"Yus," he said, bending anew to his task, "'im wot walks funny."
"Why's he walk funny?" persisted William.
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