Peckover's house
Clem herself perspired as profusely as the animal.
Mrs. Peckover was at breakfast, alone.
'Read that, will you? Read that?' roared Clem, rushing upon her and
dashing the letter in her face.
'Why, you mad cat!' cried her mother, starting up in anger. 'What's
wrong with you now?'
'Read that there letter! That's _your_ doin', that is! Read it? Read
it!'
Half-frightened, Mrs. Peckover drew away from the table and managed
to peruse Joseph's writing. Having come to the end, she burst into
jeering laughter.
'He's done it, has he? He's took his 'ook, has he? _What_ did I tell
you? Don't swear at me, or I'll give you something to swear about--
such languidge in a respectable 'ouse! Ha, ha? What did I tell you?
You wouldn't take _my_ way. Oh no, you must go off and be
independent. _Serve_ you right! Ha, ha! _Serve_ you right! You'll
get no pity from me.'
'You 'old your jaw, mother, or I'll precious soon set my marks on
your ugly old face! What does he say there about you? You're to pay
me money. He's made arrangements with you. Don't try to cheat me, or
I'll--soon have a summons out against you. The letter's proof;
it's lawyer's proof.
Pages:
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697