“About the idea that I shot you all,” ses Bob. “I want my character cleared. O' course, they can't prove anything against me—I've got my witnesses. But, taking one thing with another, I see now that it does look suspicious, and I don't suppose any of you'll get any more of your money. Mr. Sutton is so sick o' being laughed at, he'll jump at anything.”
“You dursn't do it, Bob,” ses Peter, all of a tremble.
“It ain't me, Peter, old pal,” ses Bob, “it's my friend. But I don't mind stopping 'im for the sake of old times if I get my arf. He'd listen to me, I feel sure.”
At fust Peter said he wouldn't get a farthing out of 'im if his friend wrote letters till Dooms-day; but by-and-by he thought better of it, and asked Bob to stay there while he went down to see Sam and Walter about it. When 'e came back he'd got the fust week's money for Bob Pretty; but he said he left Walter Bell carrying on like a madman, and, as for Sam Jones, he was that upset 'e didn't believe he'd last out the night.
[THE TEMPTATION OF SAMUEL BURGE]
Mr. Higgs, jeweller, sat in the small parlour behind his shop, gazing hungrily at a supper-table which had been laid some time before. It was a quarter to ten by the small town clock on the mantelpiece, and the jeweller rubbing his hands over the fire tried in vain to remember what etiquette had to say about starting a meal before the arrival of an expected guest.
“He must be coming by the last train after all, sir,” said the housekeeper entering the room and glancing at the clock. “I suppose these London gentlemen keep such late hours they don't understand us country folk wanting to get to bed in decent time. You must be wanting your supper, sir.”
Mr. Higgs sighed. “I shall be glad of my supper,” he said slowly, “but I dare say our friend is hungrier still. Travelling is hungry work.”
“Perhaps he is thinking over his words for the seventh day,” said the housekeeper solemnly. “Forgetting hunger and thirst and all our poor earthly feelings in the blessedness of his work.”