George had made a rule never to use bad language; by an exception then he proved the rule's existence. Some men are frightened when sworn at because they never know what may come next; and the Wallower in Wealth belonged to that class. He sat silent and sulky, while George repeated his question with one more exception.
"Gone vor their holiday," came the answer. "I looked in to wish 'em gude-luck, and Mrs. Mudge asked me to bide till you come. Keys be in the doors, I was to tell ye."
"Their train doesn't go till seven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Postman told 'em there's an excursion up to London at eleven, so they reckoned they'd go part of the way in that, and get there quicker."
"The fools!" cried George. "That train will take them in the very opposite direction."
"They was a bit mazed. Robert had begun to enjoy his holiday, and Bessie wur trying to catch up wi' 'en. Now they'll ha' to wait all night outside the station."
"What are you drinking?" asked George, sniffing at the fumes.
"Mrs. Mudge said 'twur coffee, but it tastes more like hot whisky and water. I'll give ye thirty shillings vor the musical box."
"I'm not going to talk business at this time of night. It's my bedtime and yours too," said George, making a motion towards the door.
"There's a drop o' this wonderful nice coffee in the jug."