“Never mind, woman! Bring them to me, or I’ll have you arrested for robbing me.”
“O, that’s it, is it?” retorted the nurse, bridling. “If I couldn’t find anything to stale better’n them, I’d remain honest to the end of my life.”
“If you won’t bring them here, I’ll get up myself.”
“Take the clothes, thin,” said Mrs. Hogan, lifting them gingerly, as though afraid of contamination. “Shure, I wouldn’t give two cents for the lot of ’em.”
She little knew why Jerry valued them, and what a quantity of wealth had been concealed in the soiled garments.
With trembling fingers, and features working with agitation, Jerry took the clothes, and began to feel for his treasures. Alas for the old man! His worst fears were realized. The bank books and certificate of stock had been removed. Not a trace of them was to be found. The poor man, for he was to be pitied, uttered a sharp cry of anguish. The clothes dropped from his nerveless hands, and he fell back on the bed as if stricken with a mortal wound.
“Help! Help! Police!” he ejaculated. “I’ve been robbed.”
“Robbed is it?” inquired Mrs. Hogan, puzzled. “And of what have you been robbed, ould man?”
“There were two savings bank books in the pockets. You’ve taken them!”
“Well, well, if I ever heard the loike!” exclaimed Mrs. Hogan, indignantly. “So you call me a thafe, do you?”