Never had
Jenkins felt weaker, or less able to battle with his increasing
illness, than on this morning; and when Mrs. Jenkins dashed in--for her
quick ears had caught the sounds of his stirring--he sat there still,
stockings in hand, unable to help himself.
"So you were going to trick me, were you! Are you not ashamed of
yourself, Jenkins?"
Jenkins gasped twice before he could reply. A giddiness seemed to be
stealing over him, as it had done that other evening, under the elm
trees. "My dear, it is of no use your talking; I must go to the
office," he panted.
"You shan't go--if I lock you up! There!"
Jenkins was spared the trouble of a reply. The giddiness had increased
to faintness, his sight left him, and he fell back on to the bed in a
state of unconsciousness. Mrs. Jenkins rather looked upon it as a
triumph. She put him into bed, and tucked him up.
"This comes of your attempting to disobey me!" said she, when he had
come round again. "I wonder what would become of you poor, soft mortals
of men, if you were let have your own way! There's no office for you to
day, Jenkins."
Very peremptorily spoke she. But, lest he should attempt the same
again, she determined to put it out of his power. Opening a closet, she
thrust every article of his clothing into it, not leaving him so much
as a waistcoat, turned the key, and put it into her pocket. Poor
Jenkins watched her with despairing eyes, not venturing to remonstrate.
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