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As he is crossing the hall, Mercury informs him, "Here's another letter for you, Mr. Bucket, come by post," and gives it him. "Another one, eh?" says Mr. Bucket. If Mercury should chance to be possessed by any lingering curiosity as to Mr. Bucket's letters, that wary person is not the man to gratify it. Mr.
Mary Jane, peeling potatoes with her back to the window, and tossing them one by one into a bucket of water, gave a jump, and cut her finger, dropping forthwith a half-peeled magnum bonum, which struck the bucket's edge and slid away across the slate flooring under the table. "Awgh awgh!" she burst out, catching up her apron and clutching it round the cut.
This active police-officer and intelligent man has acquired, in the exercise of his art, a strong faith in money; he finds it very useful to him, and he makes it very useful to society. Shall I shake that faith in Bucket because I want it myself; shall I deliberately blunt one of Bucket's weapons; shall I positively paralyse Bucket in his next detective operation? And again.
Sir Leicester puts her letter in his hands and looks intently in his face while he reads it. A new intelligence comes into Mr. Bucket's eye as he reads on; with one hook of his finger, while that eye is still glancing over the words, he indicates, "Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, I understand you." Sir Leicester writes upon the slate. "Full forgiveness. Find " Mr. Bucket stops his hand.
"Never mind that. It's only through flesh. No bone-touch, and there are only a couple of little holes to heal up. Pan of water here, Pete." "Aren't none, sir. I was going to fetch a bucket when I see what I thought was birds." "Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated my uncle. "I must have some water to bathe the wounds." "All right, sir; I'll run down for some. Bucket's down there." "No, no!
"And queer yourself with all the other women who've been to the spring? Don't do it, Joe," advised the trader. "But her bucket's bigger," protested Joe, weakly. "That's true. But you ought to know Mormons. If she'd come first, all right. As she didn't why, don't single her out." Joe kept his seat. The girl came to the spring. A low "good morning" came from under the hood.
"Why, hang it, my bucket's as full now as it will hold! I'm coming across to dump 'em on the deck, and get another helping. Why, I could keep at this business all day. It's just fascinating, that's what!" called Bluff. "I see your finish, all right, my fine boy. You'll never go back to Centerville again.
Bucket called and to whom he whispered his instructions, went out; and then the two others advised together while one wrote from Mr. Bucket's subdued dictation. It was a description of my mother that they were busy with, for Mr. Bucket brought it to me when it was done and read it in a whisper. It was very accurate indeed.
Bucket's eye, after taking a pigeon-flight round the room, alights upon a table where letters are usually put as they arrive. Several letters for Sir Leicester are upon it. Mr. Bucket draws near and examines the directions. "No," he says, "there's none in that hand. It's only me as is written to. I can break it to Sir Leicester Dedlock, Baronet, to-morrow."
Do you think father could recommend a second-hand wiolinceller of a good tone for Mr. Bucket's friend, my dear? My name's Bucket. Ain't that a funny name?" These blandishments have entirely won the family heart. Mrs. Bagnet forgets the day to the extent of filling a pipe and a glass for Mr. Bucket and waiting upon him hospitably.
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