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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Yes, sir, and I've been thinking, sir, as he must have took that money when Master Don here was up in the warehouse along o' me." "I daresay we shall find all out by-and-by, Wimble," said the old merchant, coldly. "That will do, now." Jem looked uneasily at Don, as he turned his hat round to make sure which was the right way on, and moved slowly toward the door.
"This money must be found," said Uncle Josiah sternly, as soon as they were alone. "You are sure that you have seen no more, Lindon?" "Quite, uncle. I'm sorry I forgot about the guinea I found." "Yes!" said Uncle Josiah, giving him a quick searching look. "You are quite certain, Wimble?" "Me, sir? Oh, yes; I'm moral sartain."
Just then the man, whose hands were out of sight, and who had kept on pushing up the trap-door with his head, gave it a final thrust, and the door fell over with a loud flap, which made Jem Wimble sit up, with his face so swollen and bruised that his eyes were half-closed; and this and his dirty face gave him an aspect that was more ludicrous than strange. "What's the matter?" he said sharply.
He wore a short jacket of brown corduroy, newer than the remainder of his suit, which was a fustian waistcoat with white horn buttons, breeches of the same, tanned leggings, and a straw hat overlaid with black glazed canvas. At his back he carried by a looped strap a rush basket, from which protruded at one end the crutch of a hay-knife, a wimble for hay-bonds being also visible in the aperture.
"What did your uncle have for breakfast, Mas' Don?" "Coffee ham I hardly know, Jem." "Ho! Thought p'r'aps it had been cayenne pepper." "Nonsense!" "Ah, you may say that, but see how he is going it. 'Tarn't my fault that the dock men work so badly, and 'tarn't my fault that Mike isn't here, and " "Don't stand talking to Wimble, Lindon," said a voice sharply, and Uncle Josiah came up to the pair.
So he called up Wimble Horn and talked casually until he heard the little click which meant that Mrs. Saunders had focused her large receptive ear on the conversation. Then he told Horn that he was going to burn the darn stuff up, trade being bad, anyway. Wimble offered to help him, and for three nights they talked mysteriously about the crime, mentioning more plotters, while Mrs.
Not in sport had Natty driven the plough, not in idleness had he hollowed the sand. He sought his food in the furrow, and dug riches in the mine. Doubtless he killed the bivalve, for until the time of its disappearance it had been in full vigor, but with what weapon? And whereabouts in that soft bundle was hidden the wimble which bored the hole?
Now Angus had meant that he should be busy with the pig before Allister should attack him; but Allister thought it was a pity he should have the pig, and he put out his hand and got hold of the wimble, and drew it gently out of the fire. And the wimble was so hot that it was as white as the whitest moon you ever saw.
'Your humble servant, This extraordinary letter, and message that accompanied it, made me very curious to know the character and quality of the gentleman who sent them; which I found to be as follows. Will Wimble is younger brother to a baronet, and descended of the ancient family of the Wimbles.
Don't talk so. Listen to me. Did you find any money on the floor?" "Sakes alive, sir, no." "You are quite sure?" "Oh yes, sir, quite sure. Have you dropped anything?" "Yes! No! That will do." Mrs Wimble stared. "Don't you hear?" whispered Jem. "Be off!" The little woman gave him an angry look, and then hurried from the office, looking put out and hurt.
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