William saw consternation on Mr. Johnson's face and hastened to gather the pieces and fling them lightly into the waste-paper basket.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "She said things get broken removin'."
When Mrs. Brown entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Messrs. Blake and Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmanlike eyes.
"'E's no breed," Mr. Blake was saying, "but 'e's orl roight. I'd loik to see 'im arfter a rat. I bet 'e'd——"
Seeing Mrs. Brown, he hastily seized a vase from the mantel-piece and carried it over to the packing case, where he appeared suddenly to be working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example.
Mrs. Brown's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones and she gasped.
"Whatever——" she began.
"'E's not very well 'm," explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. "'E'll be orl roight when 'e's slep' it orf. 'E's always orl roight when 'e's slep' 'it orf."
"He's hurt his legs," explained William. "He hurt his legs at the Blue Cow. He's jus' restin'!"
Mrs. Brown swallowed and counted twenty to herself. It was a practice she had acquired in her youth for use in times when words crowded upon her too thick and fast for utterance.