“I can hear 'im moving,” whispered Mr. Grummit, pausing to take breath.
“Mur—der!” wailed his wife. “Help! Help!”
Mr. Grummit, changing the stick into his left hand, renewed the attack; Mrs. Grummit, whose voice was becoming exhausted, sought a temporary relief in moans.
“Is—he——deaf?” panted the wife-beater, “or wot?”
He knocked over a chair, and Mrs. Grummit contrived another frenzied scream. A loud knocking sounded on the wall.
“Hel—lp!” moaned Mrs. Grummit.
“Halloa, there!” came the voice of the constable. “Why don't you keep that baby quiet? We can't get a wink of sleep.”
Mr. Grummit dropped the stick on the bed and turned a dazed face to his wife.
“He—he's afraid—to come in,” he gasped. “Keep it up, old gal.”