“Do you see that?”
“Yes, uncle—entries of money, twenty-five pounds, over and over again.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“No, uncle; but you are tiring yourself.”
“Ay, but I shall have plenty of time to rest, Gertie, by-and-bye.”
“Uncle, dear!”
“Ah, don’t you cry. Listen, Gertie. I wanted to try him—George. I’m a suspicious old man, and I said when he sent me that watch, a year after his father and mother died, ‘It’s a sprat to catch a herring!’ Ha, ha, ha! and I waited and wrote to him—such a lie, Gertie—such a lie, my dear.”
“Uncle!”
“Yes, the biggest lie I ever told. I wrote and told him that things had gone wrong with me—so they had, for I had lost two hundred and fifty pounds by a man who turned out a rogue—and I begged George to try and help his poor old grandfather in England for his father’s sake, and might I sell the watch.”
“And what did he say, uncle?” cried Gertrude eagerly.