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Updated: June 12, 2025
By way of reply her husband tore open the envelope and, handing her the covering letter, counted the notes and coin and placed them slowly in his pockets. Then, as Mrs. Gribble looked at him, he looked at the clock, and, snatching up his hat, set off down the road. He was late home that evening, and his manner forbade conversation. Mrs.
"I spoke to old Potts as one gentleman of independent means to another," said Mr. Gribble, smiling. "Thirty-five bob a week after twenty years' service! And he had the cheek to tell me I wasn't worth that. When I told him what he was worth he talked about sending for the police. What are you looking like that for? I've worked hard for you for thirty years, and I've had enough of it.
"I'm ashamed to be seen out," said Mrs. Gribble. "A woman's place is the home," said Mr. Gribble; "and so long as I'm satisfied with your appearance nobody else matters. So long as I am pleased, that's everything. What do you want to go dressing yourself up for? Nothing looks worse than an over-dressed woman." "What are we going to do with all that money, then?" inquired Mrs.
Gribble when his wife came downstairs again, and he was cheered to see that she looked much better. His satisfaction was so marked that it brought on her cough again. "It's this house, I think," she said, with a resigned smile. "It never did agree with me. "Well, you've lived in it a good many years," said her husband, controlling himself with difficulty. "It's rather dark and small," said Mrs.
"But we can't stay here, Henry," faltered Mrs. Gribble. "Not with all that money. They are building some beautiful houses in Charlton Grove now bathroom, tiled hearths, and beautiful stained glass in the front door; and all for twenty-eight pounds a year." "Wonderful!" said the other, with a mocking glint in his eye.
Gribble sighed, and her husband, after a few further remarks concerning Uncle George, his past and his future, announced his intention of going to the lawyers and seeing whether anything could be done.
This is the version of his letter which he received, typed, from Miss McGoun that afternoon: BABBITT-THOMPSON REALTY CO. Homes for Folks Reeves Bldg., Oberlin Avenue & 3d St., N.E Zenith Omar Gribble, Esq., 376 North American Building, Zenith. Dear Mr. Gribble: Your letter of the twentieth to hand.
Gribble when his wife came downstairs again, and he was cheered to see that she looked much better. His satisfaction was so marked that it brought on her cough again. "It's this house, I think," she said, with a resigned smile. "It never did agree with me. "Well, you've lived in it a good many years," said her husband, controlling himself with difficulty. "It's rather dark and small," said Mrs.
"I'm ashamed to be seen out," said Mrs. Gribble. "A woman's place is the home," said Mr. Gribble; "and so long as I'm satisfied with your appearance nobody else matters. So long as I am pleased, that's everything. What do you want to go dressing yourself up for? Nothing looks worse than an over-dressed woman." "What are we going to do with all that money, then?" inquired Mrs.
"Uncle George dead," he said, at last, shaking his head. "Hadn't pleasure acquaintance, but good man. Good man." He shook his head again and gazed mistily at his wife. "He was a teetotaller," she remarked, casually. "He was tee-toiler," repeated Mr. Gribble, regarding her equably. "Good man. Uncle George dead-tee-toller." Mrs. Gribble gathered up her work and began to put it away.
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