Dalton saw at a glance that it was Mrs.Blobbs, and not Mr.Blobbs, who was in charge of the shop, and that any discussions with him as to the price would be useless.
"You're an Hinglishnan, I take it," came from the lowest dot of the five, a blurred and uncertain mouth.
Dalton colored slightly and nodded.
"Well, what I should adwise ye to do is to take this 'ere lace to some of them hold furnitoor shops.

I know what this is.

I 'ate to see a chap like ye put to it like this, that's why I tell ye.

'Ard on your woman, but--there's a shop hup on Fourth Avenue where they buy such things.

A Dutchman by the name of Kling, right on the corner--you can't miss it.
Take it hup to 'im and tell 'im I sent ye--we often 'elps one another." Dalton crumpled up the black wad, slid the package under his coat, and without a word of thanks left the shop.
This was not the first time Blobbs had sent Kling a customer.
Indeed, there had always been more or less of a trade between the two establishments.