Jericho had, in truth, no mind to lay out a thousand pounds. A terrible suspicion of the nature of his money made him pause. He would therefore turn to his own account the caution of the tradesman. “I’ll not be insulted, Mrs. Jericho. The man has refused to leave the goods without the money; very well—let him take them back.”
“Mamma!” cried the weeping Monica, running into the room.
“Dear mamma!” sobbed Agatha, following in larger grief.
“Why, what’s the matter? Tears! What can have happened?” asked their mother.
“Is the parrot dead?” was the cold query of Jericho.
“That Basil has run away with my pearls,” cried Monica.
“And mine!” sobbed Agatha.
“Put them in his pocket in the most shameful manner, and said he’d turn them into—into—” Monica could get no farther for her tears; whereupon Agatha vigorously wiped her eyes, checked her sorrow, and indignantly continued—
“Into friendship for Bessy Carraways. Because we said we’d show our friendship in any way, he told us a fine story about a better—better—better jewel—and—and—and pearls in his pocket—gone away,” sobbed Agatha, incapable of unbroken speech.
Mrs. Jericho knitted her brow in deep black lines; then smiled and said—“’Tis only Basil’s jest; but certainly a very foolish one. Now, Mr. Jericho, the money must be paid; we have not the jewels to return. Now, we have no other alternative.” Jericho groaned. “I will send the man to you.”