The Argosy — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Master of Greylands. 21 ping in for a gossip, would enter by it. But no customer attempted to call for pipe or drink in the room, unless specially permitted. Mrs. Bent stood at the table before the window, picking shrimps for potting. She was slim and active, with dark curls on either side her thin but not uncomely face. Her cap had cherry ribbons in it, her favourite colour, and flying strings ; her cotton gown, of a chintz pattern, was drawn through its pocket hole, displaying a dark stuff petticoat, and neat shoes and stockings. John Bent sat at the blazing fire, as near to it as he could get his wooden chair in, reading the “ Stilborough Herald.” “It’s uncommon cold to-day!” he troke out presently, giving a twist to his back. ‘The wind comes in and cuts one like a knife. Don’t you think, Dorothy, we might shut that door these sharp days?” ‘““No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Bent. ‘You'll get rheumatism yet before the winter’s over, as sure as you're a living woman. Or I shall.” ‘‘Shall I!” retorted Mrs. Bent, in her sharply decisive tones. “Over forty years of age I am now, and I’ve been here nigh upon twenty, and never had a touch yet. I’m not going to begin to shut up doors and windows, John Bent, to please you or anybody else.” Thus put down, John resigned himself to his paper again. He was a spare, middle-sized man, some years older than his wife, with a red face, and scanty grey hair. Presently he laid the newspaper aside, and sat watching his wife’s nimble fingers. “ Dorothy, woman, when those shrimps are done, you might send a pot of ’em over to poor Sister Mildred. She’s uncommon weak, they say.” The very idea that had been running through Mrs. Bent’s own mind. But she did not receive the suggestion courteously. ‘‘Suppose you mind your own concerns, John. If I am to supply the parish with shrimps gratis, it’s about time I left off potting.” John picked up his paper again with composure : he was accustomed to all this: and just then a shadow fell across it. <A fisherman was standing at the open door with some fish for sale. “It's you, Tim, is it,” cried Mrs. Bent in her shrillest tones. “ It’s not often your lazy limbs bring me anything worth buying. What is it to-day?” ‘A cod, Mrs. Bent,” replied the man. ‘Never was finer caught.” “And a fine price, I dare be bound!” returned the landlady, step- ping aside to inspect the fish. ‘What's the price?” Tim named it: putting on a little to allow of what he knew would ensue—the beating-down. Mrs. Bent spoke loudly im her wrath. ‘“‘ Now look here, Tim Gleeson !—do you think I’m made of money; or do you think I’m soft? I'll give you just half the sum..If you don’t like it you may take yourself off, and your fish behind you.” Mrs. Bent got the cod at her price. She had returned to ber shomrs: (C(O) when, after a gentle tap at the open door, there entered one of the