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 gentleman, an’ these ’ere patent soaps,” said Mrs. Stone with approval. “‘My mother did without ’em’, says I, ‘an’ what was good enough for ’er is good enough for me, I ’ope,’ says I.”

Mrs. Nye was silent. She had fought the Customs bravely over her cherished machine, and she found a certain powder invaluable on Monday mornings. The whirring of a motor-car filled up the conversational gap.

“Drat the things! If God A’mighty had a-meant a man to go at that rate ’E’d a-give ’im twenty legs, an’ so I halwus tells the doctor,” said the old lady irritably.

But Canterbury-in-England is well-acquainted with motors, so, “If ’tis a doctor’s, I ’spect it’s all the better for ’is patients,” said Mrs. Nye, leniently.

“I dunno so much about that,” said the other, darkly.

“Well, come, them trams is handy, though, ain’t they?” urged Mrs. Nye.

“The trams? I dunno, dear,” said the old lady again. “I ain’t never been nigh ’em. I’m too old, I am, for these ’ere new-fanglements. Maggie, she were wild for to take me, but says I, ‘You take an’ leave me in peace,’ I says. ‘Why, you’d see the sea again, mother,’ says she—but lor, there! ’tweren’t no manner o’ use. Not but what I’d like to git a sight o’ the sea too, mind you, for I come from the coast, I did.”

“Well, and I live by the sea,” said Mrs. Nye, hospitably, though in secret amazement that anybody should really ever wish to have sight of it. “Just you get your daughter to put you on the tram some day—it goes as smooth as smooth—an’ I’ll