"I didn't hear her say."
"And she'll be gone a month of Sundays, I suppose. I shan't wait for her, if the rain gives over."
"You'd be more comfortable in the small parlour," said the clerk, who seemed rather fidgety; "there's a nice bit of fire there."
"I'm more comfortable here," contradicted Mrs. Jones. "Where's the good of a bit of fire for a gown as wet as mine?"
Jabez Gum made no response. There was the lady, a fixture; and he could only resign himself to the situation.
"How's your friend at the next house—Pike?" she began again sarcastically.
"He's no friend of mine," said the clerk.
"It looks like it, at all events; or you'd have given him into custody long ago. I wouldn't let a man harbour himself so close to me. He's taken to a new dodge now: going about with a pistol to shoot people."
"Who says so?" asked the clerk.
"I say so. He frighted that boy Ripper pretty near to death. The boy tore home one night in a state of terror, and all they could get out of him was that he'd met Pike with a pistol. It's weeks ago, and he hasn't got over it yet."