“There won’t be no desire not to abide by ’em,” snorted Mrs. Smithers, “wot with cats as can’t stay buried and sheeted spectres of the dead a-walkin’ through the house by night!”
By this time, Mrs. Dodd had the box open, and a cry of astonishment broke from her lips. Several heads were badly bumped in the effort to peep into the box, and an unprotected sneeze from Uncle Israel added to the general unpleasantness.
“You can all go away,” cried Mrs. Dodd, shrilly. “There’s two one-dollar bills here, two quarters, an’ two nickels an’ eight pennies. ’T aint nothin’ to be fit over.”
“But the letter,” suggested Mr. Perkins, hopefully. “Is there not a letter from dear Uncle Ebeneezer? Let us gather around the box in a reverent spirit and listen to dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s last words.”
“You can read ’em,” snapped Mrs. Holmes, “if you’re set on hearing.”
Uncle Israel wheezed so loudly that for the moment he drowned the deep purr of Claudius Tiberius. When quiet was restored, Mr. Perkins broke the seal of the envelope and unfolded the communication within. Uncle Israel held the dripping candle on one side and Mrs. Smithers the smoking lantern on the other, while near by, Dick watched the midnight assembly with an unholy glee which, in spite of his efforts, nearly became audible.
“How beautiful,” said Mr. Perkins, “to think that dear Uncle Ebeneezer’s last words should be given to us in this unexpected but original way.”
“Shut up,” said Mrs. Smithers, emphatically, “and read them last words. I’m gettin’ the pneumony now, that’s wot I am.”
“You’re the only one,” chirped Mrs. Dodd, hysterically. “The money in this here box is all old.” It was, indeed. Mr. Judson seemed to have purposely chosen ragged bills and coins worn smooth.
“‘Dear Relations,’” began Mr. Perkins. “‘As every one of you have at one time or another routed me out of bed to let you in when you have come to my house on the night train, and always uninvited——’”