“She’s of age; she don’t need no guardian.”
“Well, it’s a precious mystery, the whole thing. I wonder if the police won’t see something in it?”
“Bah, police! They had the chance at the thing fourteen years ago. And what did they do with it? Nothing.”
“But now there’s a clue. This man Hazlitt knew what became of Ephraim Earle, or why did he leave that very same amount to his daughter?”
“Lor’ knows. She’s a taking minx and perhaps——”
“Well, perhaps——”
“Hazlitt wasn’t his name, don’t you see?”
This new theory started fresh talk and much excited reasoning, but as it was of the most ignorant sort, it is scarcely worth our while to record it. Meanwhile the twilight gave way to darkness and Polly Earle failed to reappear. When it was quite dark, the stragglers separated, and then it was seen that the man with the dog had fallen asleep in his chair.
Someone strove to wake him.
“Come, come, friend,” said he; “you’ll be getting the rheumatiz if you don’t look out. This isn’t the right kind of air to sleep in.”