"Perry," said uncle George, removing his hat to ruffle his curls,
"you've heard of bears robbed of cubs, of the Hyr--what's-a-name
tiger--"
"Hyrcanian, George!" murmured uncle Jervas.
"Well, they're playful pets in comparison. How is your aunt? B'gad,
Perry, my lad, that's precisely the dooce of it, d'ye see!"
"She--she is very well, I hope?" faltered I.
"Assuredly!" answered my uncle Jervas. "But being the--ah--truly
feminine creature she is, your remarkable aunt, with more or less
reason, has leapt to the conclusion that we are the cause of what she
terms your 'desertion', and is a little incensed against us--"
"Incensed, d'ye call it, Jervas?" exclaimed uncle George. "A little
incensed is it--oh, b'gad!"
"And declines to see or hold communications with us--"
"And when she does, she--she don't!" added uncle George. "Last time I
ventured to call, she looked over me, and under me, and round me, and
through me but never--at me. Dooced trying y' know, Perry!"
"And most disappointing!" said I. "My dream that you--one of you might
comfort her--"
"Was a damned piece of impertinence!" murmured my uncle Jervas, his
aesthetically pallid cheek tinged with unusual colour. "Your aunt
knows her own mind and has grieved, raged, wept, languished and
advertised for you in her thorough fashion--"
"Offers five hundred pounds for your recovery, lad!" added uncle
George.
"Which," continued uncle Jervas, "is a fair sum of money, the natural
consequence being that the poor, sweet soul has been plagued by all
manner of people, day and night, eagerly endeavouring to restore waifs
and strays of both sexes and all ages, so much so that your uncle and
I were compelled to call in and suppress such notices as had
appeared--here is one!" From his pocket uncle Jervas took a handbill
which he unfolded and passed to me; whereon I read this:
L500.
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