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Updated: June 12, 2025
Gribble. "What am I to do?" Mrs. Gribble put her handkerchief to her eyes. "And don't start weakening your constitution by crying," shouted the incensed husband. "What are you mumbling?" "I sa sa said, let's hope you'll go first," sobbed his wife. "Then it will be all right." Mr.
"What do you mean by it? The fire's out and the kitchen is just as you left it." "I I've been to a lawyer's, Henry," said Mrs. Gribble, "and I had to wait." "Lawyer's?" repeated her husband. "I got a letter this afternoon telling me to call. Poor Uncle George, that went to America, is gone." "That is no excuse for neglecting me," said Mr. Gribble. "Of course people die when they are old.
The only thing that disturbed her was the fact that Mr. Gribble, to avoid wasting money over necessaries, contrived to spend an unduly large portion on personal luxuries. "We ought to have some new things for the kitchen," she said one day. "No money," said Mr. Gribble, laconically. "And a mat for the bathroom." Mr. Gribble got up and went out. She had to go to him for everything.
Gribble, with the bereaved air of one who has sustained an irremediable loss, sighed fitfully, and once applied her handkerchief to her eyes. "That's no good," said her husband at last; "that won't bring him back." "Bring who back?" inquired Mrs. Gribble, in genuine surprise. "Why, your Uncle George," said Mr. Gribble. "That's what you're turning on the water-cart for, ain't it?"
Gribble, clenching her hands together under the table. "When I found I had come in for that money, the first thing I thought was that I should be able to have a decent dress. My old ones are quite worn out, and as for my hat and jacket " "Go on," said her husband, fiercely. "Go on. That's just what I said: trust you with money, and we should be poorer than ever."
"Not so much talk," said her husband. "When I want your opinion of my looks I'll ask you for it. When do you start getting this money?" "Tuesday week; first of May," replied his wife. "The lawyers are going to send it by registered letter." Mr. Gribble grunted. "I shall be sorry to leave the house for some things," said his wife, looking round. "We've been here a good many years now, Henry."
Gribble went on with his meal. The double-knocks down the road came nearer and nearer, and Mr. Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with an air of alert and pleased interest. Rapid steps came to the front door, and a double bang followed. "Always punctual," said Mr. Gribble, good-humouredly.
Mr. Gribble sat in his small front parlour in a state of angry amazement. It was half-past six and there was no Mrs. Gribble; worse still, there was no tea. It was a state of things that had only happened once before. That was three weeks after marriage, and on that occasion Mr. Gribble had put his foot down with a bang that had echoed down the corridors of thirty years.
"I had to get some dress material," she said, in a quavering voice. "You want me to go out, and I'm so shabby I'm ashamed to be seen." Mr. Gribble made muffled noises in his throat; then, afraid to trust himself, he went into the back-yard and, taking a seat on an upturned bucket, sat with his head in his hands peering into the future.
"They're going to pay it monthly; sixteen pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a month. That's how he left it." "Two hund " began Mr. Gribble, forgetting himself. "Two hun Go and get my tea! If you think you're going to give yourself airs because your uncle's left you money, you won't do it in my house."
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