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Everything was in that shop. Benchers and [sand stones?],straw hats and onions were strung across the ceiling, mixed with bunches of cans and tin teapots and horn heads and brushes. There were bins and canisters against the walls and shelves of pickles and jams and things in tins. One corner was fitted up as diapers - you could smell the rolls of flannelette, and one as a chemists with cans of rubber gummies and jars of worn chocolate. One barrel brimmed with apples - one had a tap and a bowl under it bag full of molasses, a third was stained deep red inside and a worn ladle with a crimson handle was balanced across it. It held raspberries. And every spare inch of space was covered with fly paper of 
an advertisement. Sitting on stools of boxes, a  lounging against things a collection a big untidy man yawned and smoked. One, very red one with a dirty head sat with his back half turned to the other, chewing tobacco and spitting a long distance into a huge round spitoon [tepered?] with sawdust. After he had spit he [wiped?] his beard with a shaking hand. "We - ell! that's how it is!"
or - "Thats 'ow it appears -" or "there you've got it yer'see, he would [mutter - struck out] answer. But nobody paid any attention to him but Mr Tubb who cocked an occasional eye and roared "now, then father"- and then the