Gribble, decidedly. "That'll do. One o' these
days you'll go too far. You start throwing that money in my teeth and
see what happens. I've done my best for you all these years, and
there's no reason to suppose I sha'n't go on doing so. What did you
say? What!"
Mrs. Gribble turned to him a face rendered ghastly by terror. "I--I
said--it was my money," she stammered.
Mr. Gribble rose, and stood for a full minute regarding her. Then,
kicking a chair out of his way, he took his hat from its peg in the
passage and, with a bang of the street-door that sent a current of
fresh, sweet air circulating through the house, strode off to the
Grafton Arms.
It was past eleven when he returned, but even the spectacle of his wife
laboriously darning her old dress failed to reduce his good-humour in
the slightest degree. In a frivolous mood he even took a feather from
the dismembered hat on the table and stuck it in his hair. He took the
stump of a strong cigar from his lips and, exhaling a final cloud of
smoke, tossed it into the fireplace.
"Uncle George dead," he said, at last, shaking his head. "Hadn't
pleasure acquaintance, but good man.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71