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Updated: May 12, 2025
"I searched her box through and through," said his niece, "but it wasn't there; then I came down again and had a rare good cry all to myself." "That's the best way for you to have it," remarked Mr. Negget, feelingly. Mrs. Negget's uncle instinctively motioned his niece to silence, and holding his chin in his hand, scowled frightfully in the intensity of thought. "See a cloo?" inquired Mr.
Negget, affably. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, George," said his wife, angrily; "speaking to uncle when he's looking like that." Mr. Bodfish said nothing; it is doubtful whether he even heard these remarks; but he drew a huge notebook from his pocket, and after vainly trying to point his pencil by suction, took a knife from the table and hastily sharpened it.
"Was the brooch there last night?" he inquired. "It were," said Mr. Negget, promptly. "Lizzie made me get up just as the owd clock were striking twelve to get her a lozenge." "It seems pretty certain that the brooch went since then," mused Mr. Bodfish. "It would seem like it to a plain man," said Mr. Negget, guardedly. "I should like to see the box," said Mr. Bodfish. Mrs.
And he was in the thick of his self-imposed task when his graceless nephew by marriage, who had met Mrs. Driver and referred pathetically to a raging thirst which he had hoped to have quenched with some of her home-brewed, brought the ladies hastily back again. "I'll go round the back way," said the wily Negget as they approached the cottage. "I just want to have a look at that pig of yours."
Negget, with a carpet-brush which almost spoke, swept the pieces of dried mud from the stairs. Mr. Negget was the last to go to bed that night, and finishing his pipe over the dying fire, sat for some time in deep thought. He had from the first raised objections to the presence of Mr.
Negget went up and fetched it and stood eyeing him eagerly as he raised the lid and inspected the contents. It contained only a few lozenges and some bone studs. Mr. Negget helped himself to a lozenge, and going back to his seat, breathed peppermint. "Properly speaking, that ought not to have been touched," said the ex-constable, regarding him with some severity.
Negget glancing at frequent intervals toward the door, behind which she was convinced the servant was listening, and checking the finest periods and the most startling suggestions with a warning 'ssh! "Go on, uncle," she said, after one of these interruptions. "I forget where I was," said Mr. Martin Bodfish, shortly. "Under our bed," Mr. Negget reminded him. "Yes, watching," said Mrs.
Negget glancing at frequent intervals toward the door, behind which she was convinced the servant was listening, and checking the finest periods and the most startling suggestions with a warning 'ssh! "Go on, uncle," she said, after one of these interruptions. "I forget where I was," said Mr. Martin Bodfish, shortly. "Under our bed," Mr. Negget reminded him. "Yes, watching," said Mrs.
Bodfish hotly rebuked a suggestion of his niece's to sweep them up. "Seems to me," said the conscience-stricken Mr. Negget, feebly, "as they're rather large for a woman." "Mud cakes," said Mr. Bodfish, with his most professional manner; "a small boot would pick up a lot this weather." "So it would," said Mr.
Negget, feeling that his mirth was certainly ill-timed, shook for some time in a noble effort to control himself, and despairing at length, went into the back place to recover. Sounds of blows indicative of Emma slapping him on the back did not add to Mrs. Negget's serenity. "The point is," said the ex-constable, "could anybody have come into your room while you was asleep and taken it?"
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