"Mind you," Bill continued serenely, "you'll 'ave to tell Eustace just exactly what you want. It's no good leaving it to 'im—we know 'ow much good 'is ideas are. Tell 'im what you wants an' see you gets it."
"Yes, but 'ow much good will that do? The ole woman's gone off ravin' like a blinkin' lunatic, an' once she gets round to ole FitzPeter all the furniture in the world won't do us no good. 'Ow can we stop 'er tellin' 'im?"
"Easy enough," said Bill with unabated confidence. "Strike 'er dumb!"
"Eh?" Alf's eyes and mouth opened to their utmost extent.
"Tell Eustace to make 'er dumb. Then she can't tell anybody anything."
"She could write it," said Alf, after consideration.
"Paralyze 'er, then," retorted Bill callously.
"Even then, 'er 'usband'd know. 'Sides, that ain't goin' to do us no good. The neighbor'ood 'ud be bound to notice it if she came 'ere an' then went dumb an' paralyzed—specially if we 'ad to do it to the parson too."
"True for you, Alf—it wouldn't make us what you might call popular."
Bill took a long drink, to assist thought. The faithful Lucy uncurled herself once more and left the room with the empty flagon.