'Lor, I didn't think I wor goin to know quite so soon! An sich queer
'arf-crowns, they ses, as she keeps a-changin. Jarge somethin--an old
cove in a wig. An 'ere they is, I'll be blowed--some on 'em. Well, yer a
nice un, yer are!'

He stared her up and down with a kind of admiration.

Bessie began to cry feebly--the crying of a lost soul.

'Tim, if yer'll go away an hold yer tongue, I'll give yer five o' them
suverins, and not tell yer father nothin.'

'Five on 'em?' he said, grinning. 'Five on 'em, eh?'

And dipping his hands into the box he began deliberately shovelling the
whole hoard into his trousers and waistcoat pocket.

Bessie flung herself upon him. He gave her one businesslike blow which
knocked her down against the bedroom door. The door yielded to her fall,
and she lay there half-stunned, the blood dripping from her temple.

'Noa, I'll not take 'em all,' he said, not even troubling to look where
she had fallen. 'That 'ud be playin it rayther too low down on old John.
I'll leave 'im two--jest two--for luck.'

He buttoned up his coat tightly, then turned to throw a last glance at
Bessie. He had always disliked his father's second wife, and his sense
of triumph was boundless.