Barthwick's!
You've taken away my reputation. Oh, Jem, whatever made you?
JONES. What d' you mean?
MRS. JONES. It's been missed; they think it's me. Oh! whatever
made you do it, Jem?
JONES. I tell you I was in liquor. I don't want it; what's the
good of it to me? If I were to pawn it they'd only nab me. I 'm no
thief. I 'm no worse than wot that young Barthwick is; he brought
'ome that purse that I picked up--a lady's purse--'ad it off 'er in
a row, kept sayin' 'e 'd scored 'er off. Well, I scored 'im off.
Tight as an owl 'e was! And d' you think anything'll happen to him?
MRS. JONES. [As though speaking to herself.] Oh, Jem! it's the
bread out of our mouths!
JONES. Is it then? I'll make it hot for 'em yet. What about that
purse? What about young BARTHWICK?
[MRS. JONES comes forward to the table and tries to take the box;
JONES prevents her.] What do you want with that? You drop it, I
say!
MRS. JONES. I 'll take it back and tell them all about it. [She
attempts to wrest the box from him.]
JONES. Ah, would yer?
[He drops the box, and rushes on her with a snarl. She slips
back past the bed. He follows; a chair is overturned.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55