‘Told who?’ ‘Who? Pennyloaf, of course.’ ‘No, I haven’t. Why should I?’ ‘Oh, you’re such a affectionate couple! See, you’re only to give her two shillin’s next week. Let her go hungry this nice weather.’ ‘She won’t do that if Jane Snowdon comes back, so there you’re out of it!’ Clem bit her lip. ‘What’s the odds? Make it up with a hit in the mouth now and then.’ ‘What do you expect to know from that girl?’ inquired Bob. ‘Lots o’ things. I want to know what the old bloke’s goin’ to do with his money, don’t I? And I want to know what my beast of a ’usband’s got out of him. And I want to know what that feller Kirkwood’s goin’ to do. He’d ought to marry your sister by rights.’ ‘Not much fear of that now.’ ‘Trust him! He’ll stick where there’s money. See, Bob; if that Jane was to kick the bucket, do you think the old bloke ‘ud leave it all to Jo?’ ‘How can I tell?’ ‘Well, look here. Supposin’ he died an’ left most to her; an’ then supposin’ _she_ was to go off; would Jo have all her tin?’ ‘Course he would.’ Clem mused, eating her lower lip. ‘But supposin’ Jo was to go off first, after the old bloke? Should I have all he left?’ ‘I think so, but I’m not sure.’ ‘You think so? And then should I have all _hers_? If she had a accident, you know.’ ‘I suppose you would. But then that’s only if they didn’t make wills, and leave it away from you.’ Clem started. Intent as she had been for a long time on the possibilities hinted at, the thought of unfavourable disposition by will had never occurred to her. She shook it away. ‘Why should they make wills? They ain’t old enough for that, neither of them.’ ‘And you might as well say they ain’t old enough to be likely to take their hook, either,’ suggested Bob, with a certain uneasiness in his tone. Clem looked about her, as if her fierce eyes sought something. Her brows twitched a little. She glanced at Bob, but he did not meet her look. ‘I don’t care so much about the money,’ she said, in a lower and altered voice. ‘I’d be content with a bit of it, if only I could get rid of him at the same time.’ Bob looked gloomy. ‘Well, it’s no use talking,’ he muttered. ‘It’s all your fault.’ ‘How do you make that out? It was you quarrelled first.’ ‘You’re a liar!’ ‘Oh, there’s no talking to you!’ He shuffled with his feet, then rose. ‘Where can I see you on Wednesday morning?’ asked Clem. ‘I want to hear about that girl.’ ‘It can’t be Wednesday morning. I tell you I shall be getting the sack next thing; they’ve promised it. Two days last week I wasn’t at the shop, and one day this. It can’t go on.’