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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
198
The
shopman
whispered
a
word
or
two
across
the
table
to
Miss
Matty.
She
looked
at
him
with
a
dubious
air.
“Perhaps
so,”
said
she.
“But
I
don’t
pretend
to
understand
business;
I
only
know
that
if
it
is
going
to
fail,
and
if
honest
people
are
to
lose
their
money
because
they
have
taken
our
notes—
I
can’t
explain
myself,”
said
she,
suddenly
becoming
aware
that
she
had
got
into
a
long
sentence
with
four
people
for
audience;
“only
I
would
rather
exchange
my
gold
for
the
note,
if
you
please,”
turning
to
the
farmer,
“and
then
you
can
take
your
wife
the
shawl.
It
is
only
going
without
my
gown
a
few
days
longer,”
she
continued,
speaking
to
me.
“Then,
I
have
no
doubt,
everything
will
be
cleared
up.”
“But
if
it
is
cleared
up
the
wrong
way?”
said
I.
“Why,
then
it
will
only
have
been
common
honesty
in
me,
as
a
shareholder,
to
have
given
this
good
man
the
money.
I
am
quite
clear
about
it
in
my
own
mind;
but,
you
know,
I
can
never
speak
quite
as
comprehensibly
as
others
can,
only
you
must
give
me
your
note,
Mr
Dobson,
if
you
please,
and
go
on
with
your
purchases
with
these
sovereigns.”
[Picture:
You
must
give
me
your
note,
Mr
Dobson,
if
you
please]
The
man
looked
at
her
with
silent
gratitude—
too
awkward
to
put
his
thanks
into
words;
but
he
hung
back
for
a
minute
or
two,
fumbling
with
his
note.
“I’m
loth
to
make
another
one
lose
instead
of
me,
if
it
is
a
loss;
but,
you
see,
five
pounds
is
a
deal
of
money
to
a
man
with
a
family;
and,
as
you
say,
ten
to
one
in
a
day
or
two
the
note
will
be
as
good
as
gold
again.”
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