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Rh yawned the President of the Junior Curlton Club, who had a cultivated taste in such matters. "I wanted to hear about what you did visiting the 'districts' in England."

"Well, I was a comin' to that, Missy—but you're so 'asty—like all wimming. Well, ole gaffer, 'e wants me to set-down-to-last wiv' im.

"Didn't he think you'd last?" inquired Boodle.

"It's a manner o' speakin' among snobs, Missy," replied Bobball. "’E wanted to set me dahn to the cobbler's last. Sorter happrentice me to 'imself like—an' 'im pinch wot I earnt. But muvver says, 'No' She calls 'im just abaht wot 'e wos, an' says I gotter stop in our room wiv 'er a makin' matches. When she got too ill to go out a charin', she set all day an' made matches—to fill our 'ungry bellies. "

"Matches is bad for bellies," interrupted the Vice.

"Mummy says her mother was a regular match-maker," said Boodle.

Bobball guffawed.

"Quite right, me lord an' me lady," said he,