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"If a copper comes in without being told to," he continued, "he gets into trouble for it. Now d'ye see?" "But he won't come," said the puzzled Mrs. Grummit. Mr. Grummit winked. "Yes 'e will if you scream loud enough," he retorted. "Where's the copper-stick?" "Have you gone mad?" demanded his wife, "or do you think I 'ave?" "You go up into the bedroom," said Mr.
Grummit took it, and several other favours, while his wife, tugging at her brother, endeavoured to explain. It was not, however, until Mr. Grummit claimed the usual sanctuary of the defeated by refusing to rise that she could make herself heard. "Joke?" repeated her brother, incredulously. "Joke?" Mrs. Grummit in a husky voice explained.
"Why, I gave you that black eye, I smashed your 'elmet, I cut your silly 'ead open, I " "You've been drinking," said the other, severely. "You mean to say I didn't?" demanded Mr. Grummit, ferociously. Mr. Evans came closer and eyed him steadily. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, calmly. Mr. Grummit, about to speak, stopped appalled at such hardihood.
Lewis Grummit, an eminent grazier of Lincolnshire, met late one night a commercial traveller who had mistaken his road, and inquired the way to the nearest inn or public house. Mr. G. replied, that as he was a stranger, he would show him the way to a quiet respectable house of public entertainment for man and horse; and took him to his own residence.
"Why, it must ha' been you screaming, then! I thought it sounded loud. Why don't you go and get a summons and have her locked up? I should be pleased to take her." Mr. Grummit faced him, quivering with passion. "Wot would it cost if I set about you?" he demanded, huskily. "Two months," said Mr. Evans, smiling serenely; "p'r'aps three." Mr. Grummit hesitated and his fists clenched nervously.
"That's 'ow coppers get on and buy pianners," said the incensed Mr. Grummit, "sneaking other people's property. I didn't tell you to throw good 'uns over, did I? Wot d'ye mean by it?" Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but watched with bated breath the triumphal entrance of the piano. The carman set it tenderly on the narrow footpath, while P. C. Evans, stooping low, examined it at all points, and Mrs.
He pondered the question for a week, and meanwhile the tins to the secret disappointment of Mr. Evans remained untouched in his yard. For the whole of the time he went about looking, as Mrs. Grummit expressed it, as though his dinner had disagreed with him. "I've been talking to old Bill Smith," he said, suddenly, as he came in one night. Mrs.
He just saw 'im disappearing round a corner, and he didn't see 'im agin for a couple o' year arterwards, by which time the Sydney gal had 'ad three or four young men arter 'im, and Emma, who 'ad changed her name to Smith, was doing one o' the best businesses in the chandlery line in Poplar. Mr. Bob Grummit sat in the kitchen with his corduroy-clad legs stretched on the fender.
They sometimes made as many as three journeys a day, and on one occasion the heavens opened to drop a battered tin bucket on the back of Mr. Grummit as he was tying his bootlace. Five minutes later he spoke of the outrage to Mr. Evans, who had come out to admire the sunset. "I heard something fall," said the constable, eyeing the pail curiously. "You threw it," said Mr.
His one hope was that Constable Evans was going to try and cultivate a garden. The hope was realized a few days later, and Mr. Grummit at the back window sat gloating over a dozen fine geraniums, some lobelias and calceolarias, which decorated the constable's plot of ground. He could not sleep for thinking of them. He rose early the next morning, and, after remarking to Mrs. Grummit that Mr.
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