The cloud which had been on his spirits for some time had lifted,
and he whistled as he walked. The sight of flowers in front windows
added to his good humour.
He was still in good spirits when he left off work that afternoon, but
some slight hesitation about returning home sent him to the Brick-layers'
firms instead. He stayed there until closing time, and then, being still
disinclined for home, paid a visit to Bill Smith, who lived the other
side of Tunwich. By the time he started for home it was nearly midnight.
The outskirts of the town were deserted and the houses in darkness. The
clock of Tunwich church struck twelve, and the last stroke was just dying
away as he turned a corner and ran almost into the arms of the man he had
been trying to avoid.
"Halloa!" said Constable Evans, sharply. "Here, I want a word with you."
Mr. Grummit quailed. "With me, sir?" he said, with involuntary respect.
"What have you been doing to my flowers?" demanded the other, hotly.
"Flowers?" repeated Mr. Grummit, as though the word were new to him.
"Flowers? What flowers?"
"You know well enough," retorted the constable. "You got over my fence
last night and smashed all my flowers down.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25