"That's not very likely," said Mr. Gribble.
"You're tough enough. And if it did your money would come to me."
Mrs. Gribble shook her head.
"WHAT?" roared her husband, jumping up.
"I've only got it for life, Henry, as I told you," said Mrs. Gribble, in
alarm. "I thought you knew it would stop when I died."
"And what's to become of me if anything happens to you, then?" demanded
the dismayed Mr. Gribble. "What am I to do?"
Mrs. Gribble put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"And don't start weakening your constitution by crying," shouted the
incensed husband.
"What are you mumbling?"
"I sa--sa--said, let's hope--you'll go first," sobbed his wife. "Then
it will be all right."
Mr. Gribble opened his mouth, and then, realizing the inadequacy of the
English language for moments of stress, closed it again. He broke his
silence at last in favour of Uncle George.
"Mind you," he said, concluding a peroration which his wife listened to
with her fingers in her ears--"mind you, I reckon I've been absolutely
done by you and your precious Uncle George. I've given up a good
situation, and now, any time you fancy to go off the hooks, I'm to be
turned into the street.
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