“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Todhetley.
“The word’s slippery, I expect,” cried the Squire with a frown. “One would think she had emptied the water-bottle into the inkpot.”
“‘Gavity said parsons were slippery; meaning that they were often worth no more than their word. He took, as security, a bill of sale on the furnace. Stay,—furniture. Our school was quite prosperous; there was not the slightest doubt that in a short time the whole of the debt could be cleared off; so we had no hesitation in letting him have the bill of sale. And no harm would have come of it, but for one dreadful misfortune, which (as it seems) was a necessary part of the attendant proceedings. My husband got put into Jer—Jer—Jerry’s Gazelle.’”
“Jerry’s Gazelle?”
“Jerry’s Gazette,” corrected the Squire.
“Jerry’s Gazette?”
We all spoke at once. He stared at the letters and then at us. We stared back again.
“It is Jerry’s Gazette—as I think. Come and see, Joe.”
Tod looked over the Squire’s shoulder. It certainly looked like “Jerry’s Gazette,” he said; but the ink was pale.
“‘Jerry’s Gazette.’ Go on, father. Perhaps you’ll find an explanation further on.”