Part 29 (1/2)

”Oh, Cob! Cob!”

”I couldn't help it, uncle,” I cried pa.s.sionately. ”I did try so hard.

I walked and ran about. I stood up, and danced and jumped, and went in the yard, but it was all of no use, and at last I dropped down on the stairs with Piter, and before I knew it I was fast.”

”Was the dog asleep too?”

”He went to sleep before I did,” I said bitterly.

”Humph!”

”Don't be angry with me, Uncle Bob,” I cried. ”I did try so hard.”

”Did you take anything last night after I left you?”

”No, uncle. You know I was very sleepy when you called me.”

”Nothing at all?”

”Only a drop of water out of the bottle.”

”Go and fetch what is left,” he said. ”Or no, I'll come. But Piter; what did he have?”

”I don't know, only that he seemed to pick up something just as we were walking along the yard. That's all.”

”There's some fresh mischief afoot, Cob,” cried Uncle Bob, ”and--ah, here it is! Well, my man, what is it?”

This was to Gentles, whose smooth fat face was full of wrinkles, and his eyes half-closed.

He took off his cap--a soft fur cap, and wrung it gently as if it were full of water. Then he began shaking it out, and brus.h.i.+ng it with his cuff, and looked from one to the other, giving me a salute by jerking up one elbow.

”Well, why don't you speak, man; what is it?” cried Uncle Bob. ”Is anything wrong?”

”No, mester, there aren't nought wrong, as you may say, though happen you may think it is. Wheel-bands hev been touched again.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

UNCLE BOB'S PATIENT.

Uncle Bob gave me a sharp look that seemed to go through me, and then strode into the workshop, while I followed him trembling with anger and misery, to think that I should have gone to sleep at such a time and let the miscreants annoy us again like this.

”Not cut this time,” said Uncle Bob to me, as we went from lathe to lathe, and from to stone. Upstairs and downstairs it was all the same; every band of leather, gutta-percha, catgut, had been taken away, and, of course, the whole of this portion of the works would be brought to a stand.

I felt as if stunned, and as guilty as if I had shared in the plot by which the bands had been taken away.

The men were standing about stolidly watching us. They did not complain about their work being at a stand-still, nor seem to mind that, as they were paid by the amount they did, they would come short at the end of the week: all they seemed interested in was the way in which we were going to bear the loss, or act.

”Does not look like a walk for us, Cob,” said Uncle Bob. ”What a cruel shame it is!”