Gladys had to sit down and take
one too, and there they sat, the grocer's boy dismissed, in the darkening
kitchen, their heads close together, and starting at every hiss of the
rain upon the coals. The house hung heavy and dark above them. Mad, that's
what he must be, and going mad these past ever so many months. And such a
fine man too! But knocking people down in the street, and 'im such a man
for his own dignity! 'Im an Archdeacon too. 'Ad any one ever heard in
their lives of an Archdeacon doing such a thing? Well, that settled Cook.
She'd been in the house ten solid years, but at the end of the month she'd
be off. To sit in the house with a madman! Not she! Adultery and all the
talk had been enough, but she had risked her good name and all, just for
the sake of that poor young thing upstairs, but madness!--no, that was
another pair of shoes.
Now Gladys was peculiar. She'd given her notice, but hearing this, she
suddenly determined to stay. That poor Miss Joan! Poor little worm! So
young and innocent--shut up all alone with her mad father. Gladys would
see her through--
"Why, Gladys," cried Cook, "what will your young feller you're walkin'
with say?"
"If 'e don't like it 'e can lump it," said Gladys.
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