He leapt into the very centre of an old Venetian glass
that was on the floor by the packing-case and cut his foot slightly on
a piece of it, but fortunately suffered no ill-effects.
William saw consternation on Mr. Johnson's face and hastened to gather
the pieces and fling them lightly into the waste-paper basket.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "She _said_ things get broken
removin'."
When Mrs. Brown entered the room ten minutes later, Mr. Jones was
still asleep, Jumble was still performing, and Messrs. Blake and
Johnson were standing in negligent attitudes against the wall
appraising the eager Jumble with sportsmanlike eyes.
"'E's no breed," Mr. Blake was saying, "but 'e's orl _roight_. I'd
loik to see 'im arfter a rat. I bet 'e'd----"
Seeing Mrs. Brown, he hastily seized a vase from the mantel-piece and
carried it over to the packing case, where he appeared suddenly to be
working against time. Mr. Johnson followed his example.
Mrs. Brown's eyes fell upon Mr. Jones and she gasped.
"Whatever--" she began.
"'E's not very well 'm," explained Mr. Blake obsequiously. "'E'll be
orl roight when 'e's slep' it orf. 'E's always orl roight when 'e's
slep' 'it orf."
"He's hurt his legs," explained William. "He hurt his legs at the Blue
Cow. He's jus' _restin'_!"
Mrs. Brown swallowed and counted twenty to herself. It was a practice
she had acquired in her youth for use in times when words crowded upon
her too thick and fast for utterance.
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