But Tom was truthful, and he had but a lame story to tell.
Nineteen-and-sixpence had been abstracted from the till. Nobody knew how
it had been done, and nobody had the least idea who was the thief. Mrs.
Church, who would have given her niece unlimited time to return the
money had there been a real, proper, bloodthirsty burglary, was not at
all inclined to show mercy when the affair dwindled down into an unknown
thief taking a small sum of money out of the till.
"Why didn't you get it back?" she said. "Why didn't you send for the
police? My word, this is a nice state of things! And me to be out of my
money that I counted upon. Why, Tom, boy, I spend that money on my food,
rent, and the little expenses I have to go to. I made up my mind when I
drew that hundred pounds from my dear husband's hard-earned savings
that, whatever happened, I'd make that sum last me for all expenses for
three years. And I have done it, Tom--I have done it. I am in low water,
Tom. I want the money; I want it just as much as your poor mother does."
"But you have money in the bank, haven't you?"
"That is no affair of yours, Tom Hopkins. Don't talk in that silly way
to me. No, I don't want you to shoo the fowls into the yard, and I don't
mean to give you any plumcake. I shall have to eat it myself, for I have
no money to buy anything else. And I won't show you the beautiful wings
of the beetle in the microscope. You can go home to your mother and tell
her I am very much annoyed indeed.
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