On the following day, therefore, Mrs. Quelch at Lawestoft was
surprised to find on the breakfast-table _two_ letters in
her Benjamin's handwriting. Her surprise was still greater when,
on opening them, she found one to be a graphic account of a visit
to the Zoological Gardens on the following Monday. The conclusion
was obvious: either Benjamin had turned prophet, and had somehow
got ahead of the almanac, or he was "carrying on" in some very
underhand manner. Mrs. Quelch decided for the latter alternative,
and determined to get to the bottom of the matter at once. She
cut a sandwich, put on her bonnet, and, grasping her umbrella in
a manner which boded no good to any one who stayed her progress,
started by the next train for Liverpool Street.
On reaching home she extracted from the weeping Widger, who had
just been spending the last of Benjamin's five shillings, and was
far gone in depression and gin and water, that her "good gentleman"
had not been home since Thursday night. This was bad enough, but
there was still more conclusive evidence that he was up to no good,
in the shape of his tall hat, which hung, silent accuser, on the
last peg in the passage.
Having pumped Mrs.
Pages:
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112