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XIX
Dicky had gone on an errand, and Mr. Grinder was at the shop door, when there appeared before him a whiskered and smirking figure, with a quick glance each way along the street, and a long and smiling one at the oil-man's necktie.
"Good mornin', Mr. Grinder, good mornin' sir." Mr. Weech stroked his left palm with his right fist and nodded pleasantly. "I'm in business myself, over in Meakin Street—name of Weech: p'r'aps you know the shop? I—I jist 'opped over to ask"—Grinder led the way into the shop—"to ask (so 's to make things quite sure, y' know, though no doubt it's all right) to ask if it's correct you're awfferin' brass roastin'-jacks at a shillin' each."
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