‘It’s ‘ard to get a ‘onest living anywheres nowadays,’ he said, and his voice was sad.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ said Jane, sympathetically; ‘but how about a sunny southern shore, where there’s nothing to do at all unless you want to.’
‘That’s my billet, miss,’ replied the burglar. ‘I never did care about work—not like some people, always fussing about.’
‘Did you never like any sort of work?’ asked Anthea, severely.
‘Lor’, lumme, yes,’ he answered, ‘gardening was my ‘obby, so it was. But father died afore ‘e could bind me to a nurseryman, an’—’
‘We’ll take you to the sunny southern shore,’ said Jane; ‘you’ve no idea what the flowers are like.’
‘Our old cook’s there,’ said Anthea. ‘She’s queen—’
‘Oh, chuck it,’ the burglar whispered, clutching at his head with both hands. ‘I knowed the first minute I see them cats and that cow as it was a judgement on me. I don’t know now whether I’m a-standing on my hat or my boots, so help me I don’t. If you CAN get me out, get me, and if you can’t, get along with you for goodness’ sake, and give me a chanst to think about what’ll be most likely to go down with the Beak in the morning.’
‘Come on to the carpet, then,’ said Anthea, gently shoving. The others quietly pulled, and the moment the feet of the burglar were planted on the carpet Anthea wished:
‘I wish we were all on the sunny southern shore where cook is.’