The upstairs room was much worse than the one below, which is saying something. It was furnished chiefly with turnips and sacks of lime, and these Golithos began to move to one side in a muddle-headed way, while Gorbo sat on the window-ledge and watched him. At length there was a clear space for the straw, which was spread out in the manner advocated for sick horses.
“There!” said Golithos proudly, resting on his hay-fork, “There’s a bed for you!”
Gorbo only snorted and said nothing, and there was silence for a time.
“Those are dear little children,” remarked Golithos, trying to be amiable and interesting.
“Yes,” said Gorbo shortly.
“It’s a long time since I saw any. In my bad old days I saw plenty, as you know, but I thought it best—after I reformed—to keep away from them for a good long time.”
“Sound idea.”
“Yes, wasn’t it? But as I say, these are very dear little things, especially the little girl. Do you know,” he went on chattily, “it used to be a saying amongst us in the bad old days that the lighter the hair the tenderer the meat—however, I don’t suppose that interests you.”
“Not a bit.”
“Of course not. But I have taken quite a strong liking to these little ones. The little girl is very pretty, and they are both well formed. Not fat exactly. I should describe them as well filled out. Chubby, if you understand my meaning.”
Gorbo slipped down from the window and went down the ladder in a leisurely way. “Tidy up the place properly,” he ordered as he went.
Golithos obediently went on messing about, crooning a little song about a rose that loved a butterfly and faded away.