“You needn’t take the trouble of swearing,” said Mr. Lammle to the skeleton; “once more, it doesn’t matter. You never turned your annuity to so good an account.”
“Good an account! In what way?” asked Mrs. Lammle.
“In the way of getting credit, and living well,” said Mr. Lammle. Perhaps the skeleton laughed scornfully on being entrusted with this question and this answer; certainly Mrs. Lammle did, and Mr. Lammle did.
“And what is to happen next?” asked Mrs. Lammle of the skeleton.
“Smash is to happen next,” said Mr. Lammle to the same authority.
After this, Mrs. Lammle looked disdainfully at the skeleton—but without carrying the look on to Mr. Lammle—and drooped her eyes. After that, Mr. Lammle did exactly the same thing, and drooped his eyes. A servant then entering with toast, the skeleton retired into the closet, and shut itself up.
“Sophronia,” said Mr. Lammle, when the servant had withdrawn. And then, very much louder: “Sophronia!”
“Well?”
“Attend to me, if you please.” He eyed her sternly until she did attend, and then went on. “I want to take counsel with you. Come, come; no more trifling. You know our league and covenant. We are to work together for our joint interest, and you are as knowing a hand as I am. We shouldn’t be together, if you were not. What’s to be done? We are hemmed into a corner. What shall we do?”
“Have you no scheme on foot that will bring in anything?”