"They're rum uns,"
he went on. "I've been in some queer places, but this beats 'em all."
"What do you mean?" inquired Steve, as a second chuckle escaped his
companion.
"Why, it's come to an 'ead, things has, Mr. Dingle. That's what I mean.
You won't have forgotten all about the pampering of that child what I
told you of quite recent. Well, it's been and come to an 'ead."
"Yes? Continue, colonel. This listens good."
"You ain't 'eard?"
"Not a word."
Keggs smiled a happy smile and sipped his beer. It did the old man
good, finding an entirely new audience like this.
"Why, Mr. Winfield 'as packed up and left."
Steve gasped.
"Left!" he cried. "Not _quit_? Not gone for good?"
"For his own good, I should say. Finds himself better off away from it
all, if you ask me. But 'adn't you reelly heard, Mr. Dingle? God bless
my soul! I thought it was public property by now, that little bit of
noos. Why, Mr. Winfield 'asn't been living with us for the matter of a
week or more."
"For the love of Mike!"
"I'm telling you the honest truth, Mr. Dingle. Two weeks ago come next
Saturday Mr. Winfield meets me in the 'all looking wild and 'arassed--it
was the same day there was that big thunder-storm--and he looks at me,
glassy like, and says to me: 'Keggs, 'ave my bag packed and my boxes,
too; I'm going away for a time.
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