"They's some duds hangin' up here and in the back kitchen to dry. Praps yourn's there."
"No, Serlizer, myuns never got wayt. You don't think I was sech a blame fooul as to go out in that there raiun do you?"
"I don't know nuthun 'bout yer clothes. Most men as ain't marrd looks after they own clothes."
"Is that you Ben?" asked the more refined voice of Tryphena, in a tone of surprise.
"Yaas, Trypheeny, that's jest who it is. Saay, ken you tayl me what's come o' my close?"
"They are here, Ben, close to the table;" whereupon all the company glanced at Mr. Rigby, and choked.
"Cayn't you take 'em off what they're on, and saynd one of the boys in with 'em, Trypheeny?"
The cook coloured up, and laughter could no longer be restrained. The constable laughed, and the contagion spread to Matilda and her boy.
"Dod rot it?" cried Mr. Toner, indignantly; "what are you fools and eejuts a screechin' and yellin' at? Gimme my close, or, s'haylp me, I'll come right out and bust some low down loafer's thinkin' mill."
"Now, be quiet, Ben," answered Tryphena, "and I will send Rufus in with your breakfast. You shall have your clothes when they are ready."
So, Rufus took in a plentiful breakfast to his friend Toner, who sat up in the big bed to enjoy it. "I'm powerful sorry for you, Ben," remarked the Baby. "You don't think Serlizer could ha' come in and taken your clothes out into the rain, do you?"
"Why yes, didn't you know that much? If it hadn't been for the constable, they might ha' been out there yet. I'd say thank ye to him if I was you, Ben."
"At your service, sir," replied the pensioner.
"I'm awful obligated to you, consterble, fer bringin' in my wayt close."
"Do not speak of it, sir," replied Mr. Rigby, with a large piece of toast apparently in his mouth; "I am proud to do you a service, sir."
Ben was a big man, and somewhat erratic in his ways, so the constable retired, and came back in his own garb, which he had carried out with him. "I think, Miss Hill," he said, "that Mr. Toner's clothes are now dry enough for him to wear them with safety. What do you think, Miss Newcome?"
"Guess we kin take them off now," answered Serlizer.
"Serlizer," growled Ben, "you're an old cat, a desprit spiteful chessacat, to go skylarkin' on yer own feller as never did yer no harm. Gerlong with yer!"