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"Left!" he cried. "Not quit? Not gone for good?" "For his own good, I should say. Finds himself better off away from it all, if you ask me. But 'adn't you reelly heard, Mr. Dingle? God bless my soul! I thought it was public property by now, that little bit of noos. Why, Mr. Winfield 'asn't been living with us for the matter of a week or more." "For the love of Mike!"
'E said Dr. Funk was a bloomin' ass for inventin' a drink that spoiled good Pernoud with water. 'E was a rare un. 'E was like Stevenson 'at wrote 'Treasure Island. Comes into my pub in Taiohae in the Marquesas Islands did Stevenson off'n his little Casco, and says he, ''Ave ye any whisky, 'e says, ''at 'asn't been watered? These South Seas appear to 'ave flooded every bloomin' gallon, 'e says.
"Maybe he 'as thrown the 'ooks into 'er. Who knows? It looks that w'y to me." "In any case," said Britton, gloom in his voice, "it's a most unhappy state of affairs. He's getting to be a perfect crank. Complines about everything I do. He won't 'ave 'is trousers pressed and he 'asn't been shaved since Monday." I stole away, rage in my soul. Or was it mortification?
Kybird, who had just entered the room and was standing with his back to the door holding the handle, regarded him expectantly. "It's been worrying 'im some time," pursued Mr. Smith. "'E 'asn't got nobody belonging to 'im, and for a long time 'e couldn't think 'ow to leave it. Wot with 'ouse property and other things it's a matter of over ten thousand pounds." "Good 'eavens!" said Mr.
Then nobody came to open, though she knocked and rang repeatedly. At last a neighbour, who had been watching the strange nurse through her own parlour window, came out to the street. "I think, miss," she said, with an air of polite mystery, "as you'd better walk in. Mrs. Vincent 'asn't been enjyin' very good 'ealth this last few days." Marcella turned the handle, found it yielded, and went in.
And I had no opportunity . . . Oh, dear! there is someone at the door again! Who is it?" Johnson's voice replied. "It is me, Miss Mabel," he said. "The telegraph person says he can't wait any longer. He 'asn't 'ad his supper. And there is a twenty-five-cent charge for bringing the message, Miss." "Tell him he must wait a minute longer," I answered, for her.
"'E said you was to come in if you came," she said, and regarded me, making no motion to show me anywhere. And then, confidentially, "'E's locked in, sir." "Locked in?" "Locked himself in yesterday morning and 'asn't let any one in since, sir. And ever and again SWEARING. Oh, my!" I stared at the door she indicated by her glances. "In there?" I said. "Yes, sir." "What's up?"
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