jocoseness and irritable concern; occasionally he muttered to himself. Just before reaching the Close he turned into a public-house; when he came forth the malicious smile was on his face, and he walked with the air of a man who has business of moment before him. He admitted himself to the house.
“That you, Jo?” cried Clem’s voice from upstairs.
“Me, sure enough,” was the reply, with a chuckle.
“Come up sharp, then.”
Humming a tune, Joseph ascended to the sitting-room on the first floor, and threw himself on a seat. His wife stood just in front of him, her sturdy arms akimbo; her look was fiercely expectant, answering in some degree to the smile with which he looked here and there.
“Well, can’t you speak?”
“No hurry, Mrs. Clem; no hurry, my dear. It’s all right. The old man’s rolling in money.”
“And what about your share?”
