"My own face made very long," said Sophy—as long as that—stretching out her hands.
The Cobbler shook his head dolefully, and, screwing up one eye, applied the other to the mystic ball.
Mr. Waife. "Perhaps you will see if those two gentlemen are coming."
Sophy. "Do, do! and if they will give us three pounds!"
The Cobbler (triumphantly). "Then you do care to know the future, after all?"
Sophy. "Yes, so far as that goes; but don't look any farther, pray."
The Cobbler (intent upon the ball, and speaking slowly, and in jerks). "A mist now. Ha! an arm with a besom—sweeps all before it."
Sophy (frightened). "Send it away, please."
Cobbler. "It is gone. Ha! there's Rugge—looks very angry—savage, indeed."
Waife. "Good sign that! proceed."
Cobbler. "Shakes his fist; gone. Ha! a young man, boyish, dark hair."
Sophy (clapping her hands). "That is the young gentleman—the very young one, I mean—with the kind eyes; is he coming?—is he, is he?"
Waife. "Examine his pockets! do you see there three pounds?"
Cobbler (testily). "Don't be a interrupting. Ha! he is talking with another gentleman, bearded."
Sophy (whispering to her grandfather). "The old young gentleman."
Cobbler (putting down the crystal, and with great decision). "They are coming here; I see'd them at the corner of the lane, by the public-house, two minutes' walk to this door." He took out asilver watch: "Look, Sophy, when the minute-hand gets there (or before, if they walk briskly), you will hear them knock."
Sophy clasped her hands in mute suspense, half-credulous, half-doubting; then she went and opened the room-door, and stood on the landing-place to listen.
Merle approached the Comedian, and said, in a low voice, "I wish for your sake she had the gift."
Waife. "The gift!—the three pounds!—so do I!"
Cobbler. "Pooh! worth a hundred times three pounds; the gift—the spirituous gift."
Waife. "Spirituous! don't like the epithet—smells of gin!"
