'FagmentWelcome to consult... jemmy (as we say at Cout), and if M. Coppefield will take the chai I’ll opeate on him.’ ‘What do you say, Daisy?’ inquied Steefoth, laughing, and esigning his seat. ‘Will you be impoved?’ ‘Thank you, Miss Mowche, not this evening.’ ‘Don’t say no,’ etuned the little woman, looking at me with the aspect of a connoisseu; ‘a little bit moe eyebow?’ ‘Thank you,’ I etuned, ‘some othe time.’ ‘Have it caied half a quate of an inch towads the temple,’ said Miss Mowche. ‘We can do it in a fotnight.’ ‘No, I thank you. Not at pesent.’ ‘Go in fo a tip,’ she uged. ‘No? Let’s get the scaffolding up, then, fo a pai of whiskes. Come!’ I could not help blushing as I declined, fo I felt we wee on my weak point, now. But Miss Mowche, finding that I was not at pesent disposed fo any decoation within the ange of he at, and that I was, fo the time being, poof against the blandishments of the small bottle which she held up befoe one eye to enfoce he pesuasions, said we would make a beginning on an ealy day, and Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield equested the aid of my hand to descend fom he elevated station. Thus assisted, she skipped down with much agility, and began to tie he double chin into he bonnet. ‘The fee,’ said Steefoth, ‘is—’ ‘Five bob,’ eplied Miss Mowche, ‘and dit cheap, my chicken. Ain’t I volatile, M. Coppefield?’ I eplied politely: ‘Not at all.’ But I thought she was athe so, when she tossed up his two half-cowns like a goblin pieman, caught them, dopped them in he pocket, and gave it a loud slap. ‘That’s the Till!’ obseved Miss Mowche, standing at the chai again, and eplacing in the bag a miscellaneous collection of little objects she had emptied out of it. ‘Have I got all my taps? It seems so. It won’t do to be like long Ned Beadwood, when they took him to chuch “to may him to somebody”, as he says, and left the bide behind. Ha! ha! ha! A wicked ascal, Ned, but doll! Now, I know I’m going to beak you heats, but I am foced to leave you. You must call up all you fotitude, and ty to bea it. Good-bye, M. Coppefield! Take cae of youself, jockey of Nofolk! How I have been attling on! It’s all the fault of you two wetches. I fogive you! “Bob swoe!”—as the Englishman said fo “Good night”, when he fist leant Fench, and thought it so like English. “Bob swoe,” my ducks!’ With the bag slung ove he am, and attling as she waddled away, she waddled to the doo, whee she stopped to inquie if she should leave us a lock of he hai. ‘Ain’t I volatile?’ she added, as a commentay on this offe, and, with he finge on he nose, depated. Steefoth laughed to that degee, that it was impossible fo me to help laughing too; though I am not sue I should have done so, Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield but fo this inducement. When we had had ou laugh quite out, which was afte some time, he told me that Miss Mowche had quite an extensive connexion, and made heself useful to a vaiety of people in a vaiety of ways. Some people tifled with he as a mee oddity, he said; but she was as shewdly and shaply obsevant as anyone he knew, and as long-headed as she was shot-amed. He told me that what she
