This little spar led to his telling her he had drawn out all their money, but, when she asked the reason, he snubbed her again indirectly, recommending her to sleep. The fact is, the small-clothes were full of bank-notes; and Maxley always followed them into bed now, for fear of robbers. The bank broke on a Tuesday: Maxley dug on impassive; and when curious people came about him to ask whether he was a loser, he used to inquire very gravely, and dwelling on every syllable, “Do--you--see--anything--green--in this ere eye.” Friday was club day; the clubsmen met at the “Greyhound” and talked over their losses. Maxley sat smoking complacently; and when his turn came to groan, he said drily: “I draad all mine a week afore. (Exclamations.) I had a hinkling: my boy Jack he wrote to me from Canada as how Hardie's was rotten out there; now these here bankers they be like an oak tree; they do go at the limbs first and then at the heart.” The club was wroth. “What, you went and made yourself safe and never gave any of us a chance? Was that neighbourly? was that--clubbable?” To a hailstorm of similar reproaches, Maxley made but one reply, “'Twarn't _my_ business to take care o' _you._” He added, however, a little sulkily, “I was laad for slander once: scalded dog fears lue-warm water.” “Oh,” said one, “I don't believe him. He puts a good face on it but his nine hundred is gone along with ourn.” “'Taiu't gone far, then.” With this he put his hand in his pocket, and, after some delay, pulled out a nice new crisp note and held it up. “What is that? I ask the company.” “Looks like a ten-pun note, James.” “Welt the bulk 'grees with the sample; I knows where to find eightscore and nine to match this here.” The note was handed round: and on inspection each countenance in turn wore a malicious smile; till at last Maxley, surrounded by grinning faces, felt uneasy. “What be 'e all grinning at like a litter o' Chessy cats? Warn't ye ugly enough without showing of your rotten teeth?” “Haw! Haw!” “Better say 'tain't money at all, but only a wench's curl paper:” and he got up and snatched it fiercely out of the last inspector's hand. “Ye can't run your rigs on me,” said he. “What an if I can't read words, I can figures; and I spelt the ten out on every one of them, afore I'd take it.” A loud and general laugh greeted this boast. Then Maxley snatched up his hat in great wrath and some anxiety, and went out followed by a peal. In five minutes he was at home; and tossed the note into his wife's lap. She was knitting by a farthing dip. “Dame,” said he, controlling all appearance of anxiety, “what d'ye call that?” She took up the note and held it close to the candle. “Why, Jem, it is a ten-pound note, one of Hardie's--_as was._” “Then what were those fools laughing at?” And he told her all that had happened. Mrs. Maxley dropped her knitting and stood up trembling. “Why, you told me you had got our money all safe out!”