Volume Two—Chapter Seven.
Between Friends.
For quite a month, as far as the vicar could tell, the poor-boxes had rest, and Mr Timson’s ears were not so much troubled with the objectionable money texts. Divers games of cribbage were played, and divers pipes and glasses of gin-and-water enjoyed, as the late robberies were discussed. During these discussions the vicar would enlighten his crony upon the subject of the various plans he had adopted to see whether the boxes had been opened.
The matter was also freely discussed at Purkis’s and Ruggles’s, as well as at Duplex Street; the same verdict being arrived at in each house—namely, that it was very strange.
Mrs Purkis thought she could fit the cap on the right head if she had to do with the matter, and Mr Purkis told her to hold her tongue. Mrs Ruggles, too, gave a sidewise look at her husband, and told him that it was not her business, but she could give a very shrewd guess at the culprit; though, when pressed on the subject, she only nipped her lips very tightly, and said, “Never mind.”
As for Mrs Jared, she only declared it to be very sad, and then the matter was allowed to drop.
The vicar, too, seemed to have almost forgotten the matter, until one morning when he hurried into Mr Timson’s counting-house, looking so much put out that the churchwarden directly guessed what was the matter, and before his friend could say a word, exclaimed—
“You don’t mean it, sir?”