"Stand here, Marri," Evan ordered. "Go in will I and have words with the
owner. Hap I shall uncover his tricks."
"Very well you are," said Mary. "Don't over-waggle your tongue. Address
him in hidden phrases."
Evan entered the shop, and as there was no one therein he made an
account of the tea packets and flour bags which were on the shelves.
Presently a small, fat woman stood beyond the counter. Evan addressed
her in English: "Are you Welsh?"
"That's what people say," the woman answered.
"Glad am I to hear you," Evan returned in Welsh. "Tell me how you was."
"A Cymro bach I see," the woman cried. "How was you?"
"Peeped did I on your name on the sign. Shall I say you are Mistress
Jinkins?"
"Iss, indeed, man."
"What about affairs these close days?"
"Busy we are. Why for you ask? Trade you do in milk?"
"Blurt did I for nothing," Evan replied.
"No odds, little man. Ach y fy, jealous other milkmen are of us. There's
nasty some people are."
"Natty shop you have. Little shop and big traffic, Mistress Jinkins?"
"Quick you are."
"Know you Tom Mathias Tabernacle Street?" Evan inquired.
"Seen him have I in the big meetings at Capel King's Cross.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63