"These ain't my noo trousers, Aunt," said Kipps regretfully. "My noo trousers wasn't done."
"I shouldn't ha' thought that even you could ha' been such a fool as that," said Old Kipps.
Pause.
"It's all right," said Kipps a little disconcerted by their distrustful solemnity. "It's all right—reely! Twenny-six fousan' pounds. And a 'ouse"
Old Kipps pursed his lips and shook his head.
"A 'ouse on the Leas. I could have gone there. Only I didn't. I didn't care to. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to come and tell you."
"How d'yer know the 'ouse?"
"They told me."
"Well," said Old Kipps, and nodded his head portentously towards his nephew, with the corners of his mouth pulled down in a portentous, discouraging way. "Well, you are a young Gaby."
"I didn't think it of you, Artie!" said Mrs. Kipps.
"Wadjer mean?" asked Kipps faintly, looking from one to the other with a withered face.
Old Kipps closed the shop door. "They been 'avin' a lark with you," said Old Kipps in a mournful undertone. "That's what I mean, my boy. They jest been seein' what a Gaby like you 'ud do."
"I dessay that young Quodling was in it," said Mrs. Kipps. "'E's jest that sort."
(For Quodling of the green baize bag had grown up to be a fearful dog, the terror of New Romney.)
