He rushed to the shed, to the great surprise and alarm of the little Jutts, and loudly called back for a candle, which Skipper Jonas carried to him; and when he had been gone a long time, he returned with a letter in his hand, still ejaculating in a great rage.
“See that?” said he to the three little Jutts. “Well, that’s for Santa Claus’s clerk. That’ll fix him. That’ll blister the stupid fellow.”
“Please, zur!” whispered Martha Jutt.
“Well?” snapped the doctor, stopping short in a rush to the stove.
“Please, zur,” said Martha, taking courage, and laying a timid hand on his arm. “Sure, I don’t know what ’tis all about. I don’t know what blunder he’ve made. But I’m thinkin’, zur, you’ll be sorry if you acts in haste. ’Tis wise t’ count a hundred. Don’t be too hard on un, zur. ’Tis like the blunder may be mended. ’Tis like he’ll do better next time. Don’t be hard——”
“Hard on him?” the doctor interrupted. “Hard on him! Hard on that——”
“Ay, zur,” she pleaded, looking fearlessly up. “Won’t you count a hundred?”
“Count it,” said he, grimly.
Martha counted. I observed that the numbers fell slower—and yet more slowly—from her lips, until (and she was keenly on the watch) a gentler look overspread the doctor’s face; and then she rattled them off, as though she feared he might change his mind once more.
“——an’ a hundred!” she concluded, breathless.