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taking all his meals underneath the carpet, its been mostly birds and cats and armless sort o things I avent seemed to mind so much. How did you get hold of him? demanded Mr. Clodd. Have much trouble in finding him, or did somebody come and tell you about him? Old Gladman, of Chancery Lane, the law stationer, brought im ere one evening about two months agosaid e was a sort of distant relative of is, a bit soft in the ead, but perfectly armlesswanted to put im with someone who wouldnt impose on im. Well, what between aving been empty for over five weeks, the poor old gaby imself looking as gentle as a lamb, and the figure being reasonable, I rather jumped at the idea; and old Gladman, explaining as ow e wanted the thing settled and done with, got me to sign a letter. Kept a copy of it? asked the business-like Clodd. No. But I can remember what it was. Gladman ad it all ready. So long as the money was paid punctual and e didnt make no disturbance and didnt fall sick, I was to go on boarding and lodging im for seventeen- and-sixpence a week. It didnt strike me as anything to be objected to at the time; but e payin regular, as Ive explained to you, and beaving, so far as disturbance is concerned, more like a Christian martyr than a man, well, it looks to me as if Id got to live and die with im. Give him rope, and possibly hell have a week at being a howling hyæna, or a laughing jackass, or something of that sort that will lead to a disturbance, thought Mr. Clodd, in which case, of course, you would have your remedy. Yes, thought Mrs. Postwhistle, and possibly also e may take it into what e calls is ead to be a tiger or a bull, and then perhaps before es through with it Ill be beyond the reach of remedies. Leave it to me, said Mr. Clodd, rising and searching for his hat. I know old Gladman; Ill have a talk with him. You might get a look at that letter if you can, suggested Mrs. Postwhistle, and tell me what you think about it. I dont want to spend the rest of my days in a lunatic asylum of my own if I can elp it. You leave it to me, was Mr. Clodds parting assurance. The July moon had thrown a silver veil over the grimness of Rolls Court when, five hours later, Mr. Clodds nailed boots echoed again upon its uneven pavement; but Mr. Clodd had no eye for moon or stars or such-like; always he had things more important to think of. Seen the old umbug? asked Mrs. Postwhistle, who was partial to the air, leading the way into the parlour. First and foremost, commenced Mr. Clodd, as he laid aside his hat, it is quite understood that you really do want to get rid of him? Whats that? demanded Mr. Clodd, a heavy thud upon the floor above having caused him to start out of his chair. E came in an hour after youd gone, explained Mrs. Postwhistle, bringing with him a curtain pole as ed picked up for a shilling in Clare Market. Es rested one end upon the mantelpiece and tied the other to the back of the easy-chairis idea is to twine imself round it and go to sleep upon it. Yes, youve got it quite right without a single blunder. I do want to get rid of im Then, said Mr. Clodd, reseating himself, it can be done. Thank God for that! was Mrs. Postwhistles pious ejaculation. |
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