She stood blocking up the doorway with her 'ands on her 'ips, while I
explained, with Kumbo still 'anging on my arm and a crowd collecting
behind, and the more I explained, the more I could see she didn't believe
a word of it.

She never 'as believed it. I sent for Mr. Alfredi to come and take Kumbo
away, and when I spoke to 'im about Rupert he said I was dreaming, and
asked me whether I wasn't ashamed o' myself for carrying off a pore black
gal wot 'ad got no father or mother to look arter her. He said that
afore my missis, and my character 'as been under a cloud ever since,
waiting for Rupert to turn up and clear it away.




HOMEWARD BOUND

Mr. Hatchard's conversation for nearly a week had been confined to fault-
finding and grunts, a system of treatment designed to wean Mrs. Hatchard
from her besetting sin of extravagance. On other occasions the treatment
had, for short periods, proved successful, but it was quite evident that
his wife's constitution was becoming inured to this physic and required a
change of treatment. The evidence stared at him from the mantelpiece in
the shape of a pair of huge pink vases, which had certainly not been
there when he left in the morning. He looked at them and breathed
heavily.

"Pretty, ain't they?" said his wife, nodding at them.

"Who gave 'em to you?" inquired Mr. Hatchard, sternly.