"Well, I'll try, at any rate."
"It isn't such a pleasant thing to see an old gentleman in that state. And what would happen if he chose to ring the bell and order the police to take me? Have you ever thought of that?"
"Gammon."
"But it isn't gammon. A word from him would put me into quod, and there I should be for the rest of my days. But what would you care for that?" And poor Mr. Mollett senior shook under the bedclothes as his attention became turned to this very dreary aspect of his affairs. "Pluck, indeed! I'll tell you what it is, Aby, I often wonder at my own pluck."
"Psha! Wouldn't a word from you split upon him, and upon her, and upon the young 'un, and ruin 'em? Or a word from me either, for the matter of that?"
Mr. Mollett senior shook again. He repented now, as he had already done twenty times, that he had taken that son of his into his confidence.
"And what on hearth did you say to him?" continued Aby.
"Well, not much more then; at least, not very much more. There was a good deal of words, but they didn't seem to lead to much, except this, just to make him understand that he must come down handsome."
"And there was nothing done about Hemmiline?"
"No," said the father, rather shortly.