Mr. Jobson, junior, who had just come in from the shop, remarked, shortly, that he felt more like a blooming snowdrop.
"And somebody slopped a lot of water over the stairs carrying it up," said Mrs. Jobson. "I don't believe as everybody has cold baths of a morning. It don't seem wholesome to me."
Mr. Jobson took a book from his pocket, and opening it at a certain page, handed it over to her.
"If I'm going to do the thing at all I must do it properly," he said, gravely. "I don't suppose Bill Foley ever 'ad a cold tub in his life; he don't know no better. Gladys!"
"Halloa!" said that young lady, with a start.
"Are you--are you eating that kipper with your fingers?"
Gladys turned and eyed her mother appealingly.
"Page-page one hundred and something, I think it is," said her father, with his mouth full. "'Manners at the Dinner Table.' It's near the end of the book, I know."
"If I never do no worse than that I shan't come to no harm," said his daugh
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