He pondered the question for a week, and meanwhile the tins--to the
secret disappointment of Mr. Evans--remained untouched in his yard. For
the whole of the time he went about looking, as Mrs. Grummit expressed
it, as though his dinner had disagreed with him.
"I've been talking to old Bill Smith," he said, suddenly, as he came in
one night.
Mrs. Grummit looked up, and noticed with wifely pleasure that he was
looking almost cheerful.
"He's given me a tip," said Mr. Grummit, with a faint smile; "a copper
mustn't come into a free-born Englishman's 'ouse unless he's invited."
"Wot of it?" inquired his wife. "You wasn't think of asking him in, was
you?"
Mr. Grummit regarded her almost play-fully. "If a copper comes in
without being told to," he continued, "he gets into trouble for it. Now
d'ye see?"
"But he won't come," said the puzzled Mrs. Grummit.
Mr. Grummit winked. "Yes 'e will if you scream loud enough," he
retorted. "Where's the copper-stick?"
"Have you gone mad?" demanded his wife, "or do you think I 'ave?"
"You go up into the bedroom," said Mr. Grummit, emphasizing his remarks
with his forefinger. "I come up and beat the bed black and blue with the
copper-stick; you scream for mercy and call out 'Help!' 'Murder!' and
things like that.
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