'Give me three-and-sixpence, and I'll lay it out well, and
get back. If you don't give me three-and-sixpence, don't give me a
brass farden. And if you do give me three-and-sixpence, deary,
I'll tell you something.'
He counts the money from his pocket, and puts it in her hand. She
instantly clutches it tight, and rises to her feet with a croaking
laugh of satisfaction.
'Bless ye! Hark'ee, dear genl'mn. What's your Chris'en name?'
'Edwin.'
'Edwin, Edwin, Edwin,' she repeats, trailing off into a drowsy
repetition of the word; and then asks suddenly: 'Is the short of
that name Eddy?'
'It is sometimes called so,' he replies, with the colour starting
to his face.
'Don't sweethearts call it so?' she asks, pondering.
'How should I know?'
'Haven't you a sweetheart, upon your soul?'
'None.'
She is moving away, with another 'Bless ye, and thank'ee, deary!'
when he adds: 'You were to tell me something; you may as well do
so.'
'So I was, so I was. Well, then. Whisper. You be thankful that
your name ain't Ned.'
He looks at her quite steadily, as he asks: 'Why?'
'Because it's a bad name to have just now.'
'How a bad name?'
'A threatened name. A dangerous name.'
'The proverb says that threatened men live long,' he tells her,
lightly.
'Then Ned - so threatened is he, wherever he may be while I am a-
talking to you, deary - should live to all eternity!' replies the
woman.
She has leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her forefinger
shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself together, and with
another 'Bless ye, and thank'ee!' goes away in the direction of the
Travellers' Lodging House.
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