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Ruth poured out a glass of beer for each of the players, and, having set the tray and jug upon the grass, took up her former place and position by the apple-tree. "Wheer's your rosin, 'Saiah?" asked Sennacherib. "I forgot to bring it wi' me," said Isaiah. "I took it out of the case last night, and was that neglectful as I forgot to put it back again."
"It's bad enough for him to be layin' theer wi'out havin' folks crowin' ower him." Tom, much abashed, grinned sheepishly, and old Robert continued, after a pause, still evidently in high good-humour: "Well, wheer's thy cornet? Thou should be practisin' i'stead o' standin' about findin' fault wi' thy neighbours."
He held up his hand, struggled with his vocal organs and at last exploded these words, sudden, tremulous, and shrill: "I deny it an' I defy it! The wummon be mine!" Mr. Lezzard succumbed instantly after this effort. Indeed, he went down as though shot through the head. He wagged and gasped and whispered to his grandson, "Wheer's the brandy to?"
A hand, evidently accustomed to the outside management of the latch, lifted it, and Mr. Twitt entered, his rubicund face one broad smile. "'Afternoon, David! 'Afternoon, Mister! Wheer's Mis' Deane?" "She's resting a bit in her room," replied Helmsley. "Ah, well! You can tell 'er the news when she comes in. Mr. Arbroath's away for 'is life wi' old Nick in full chase arter 'im!
'Tis done, an' to grumble at a dead man's doin's specially if you caan't mend 'em be vain." "My share was half, an' not less," said Chris. "Aye, you say so, but 'tis a deed wheer the blame ban't awften divided equal," answered Mrs. Blanchard. "Wheer's the maiden as caan't wait for her weddin' bells?" The use of the last two words magically swept Chris back into the past.
Greiffenhagen, either these men leave this house or I do." The storekeeper led his wife aside and whispered to her. She nodded none too graciously, and he hurried from the room. "Wheer's he goin'?" asked Pete. "He's goin' up ter the ranch-house," said Mrs. Greiffenhagen spitefully, "ter fetch the Professor." "Very right an' proper," yawned Pete.
"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as if he was supplying the key to the mystery. "Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master. Sam'l grunted sulkily. "Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked. At that M'Adam turned on the Master. "'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer dog. I might ha' kent it," and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
"Wheer's the paper an' ink to? I be setting out the things against Will comes in. He axed for 'em to be ready, 'cause theer's a deal o' penmanship afore him to-night. An' wheer's that li'l dictionary what I gived un years ago? I lay he'll want it." Will returned from survey of his tribulation. Hope was dead for the moment, and death of hope in a man of Blanchard's character proved painful.
"Right, sir. Here, let me get my hands under yer arms, and I'll heave yer in. I say, wheer's Eben Megg?" "Out here. I've got hold of him." Tom Bodger whistled softly in his astonishment.
Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper: "Theer's the Killer oneasy be his grave!" To which practical Jim always made the same retort: "Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?" And therein lay the crux.
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