I'll murder Suke yet, see if I don't! I'll have her life! She met me last night and gave me this black eye as you see--she did! It's 'ard on a feller.' 'You mean to say as she '_it_ you ?' cried Pennyloaf.
Bob chuckled, thrust his hands into his pockets, spread himself out.
His own superiority was so gloriously manifest.
'Suppose _you_ try it on with _me_, Penny!' he cried.
'You'd give me something as I should remember,' she answered, smirking, the good little slavey.
'Shouldn't wonder if I did,' assented Bob.
Mr.Bartley's pressing hunger was satisfied with some bread and butter and a cup of tea.

Whilst taking a share of the meal, Bob brought a small box on to the table; it had a sliding lid, and inside were certain specimens of artistic work with which he was wont to amuse himself when tired of roaming the streets in jovial company.

Do you recollect that, when we first made Bob's acquaintance, he showed Sidney Kirkwood a medal of his own design and casting?
His daily work at die-sinking had of course supplied him with this suggestion, and he still found pleasure in work of the same kind.

In days before commercialism had divorced art and the handicrafts, a man with Bob's distinct faculty would have found encouragement to exercise it for serious ends; as it was, he remained at the semi-conscious stage with regard to his own aptitudes, and cast leaden medals just as a way of occupying his hands when a couple of hours hung heavy on them.

Partly with the thought of amusing the dolorous Jack, yet more to win laudation, he brought forth DOW a variety of casts and moulds and spread them on the table.