as I can. See? Fifty 'ere, fifty there. 'Posit. I'm not going to 'nvest it—no fear."
"It's only frowing money away," said Ann.
"I'm 'arf a mind to bury some of it under the shop. Only I expect one 'ud always be coming down at nights to make sure it was there.… I don't seem to trust anyone—not with money." He put the cheque on the table corner and smiled and tapped his pipe on the grate with his eyes on that wonderful document. "S'pose old Bean started orf," he reflected.… "One thing, 'e is a bit lame."
"'E wouldn't," said Ann; "not 'im."
"I was only joking like." He stood up, put his pipe among the candlesticks on the mantel, took up the cheque and began folding it carefully to put it back in his pocket-book.
A little bell jangled.
"Shop!" said Kipps. "That's right. Keep a shop and the shop'll keep you. That's 'ow I look at it, Ann."
He drove his pocket-book securely into his breast pocket before he opened the living-room door.…
But whether indeed it is the bookshop that keeps Kipps or whether it is Kipps who keeps the bookshop is just one of those commercial mysteries people of my unarithmetical temperament are never able to solve. They do very well, the dears, anyhow, thank Heaven!
The bookshop of Kipps is on the left-hand side of the Hythe High Street coming from Folkestone, be-
