CHAPTER IX
The church bells were ringing for morning service as Mr. Vickers, who had
been for a stroll with Mr. William Russell and a couple of ferrets,
returned home to breakfast. Contrary to custom, the small front room and
the kitchen were both empty, and breakfast, with the exception of a cold
herring and the bitter remains of a pot of tea, had been cleared away.
[Illustration: "Mr. Vickers had been for a stroll with Mr. William
Russell."]
"I've known men afore now," murmured Mr. Vickers, eyeing the herring
disdainfully, "as would take it by the tail and smack'em acrost the face
with it."
He cut himself a slice of bread, and, pouring out a cup of cold tea,
began his meal, ever and anon stopping to listen, with a puzzled face, to
a continuous squeaking overhead. It sounded like several pairs of new
boots all squeaking at once, but Mr. Vickers, who was a reasonable man
and past the age of self-deception, sought for a more probable cause.
A particularly aggressive squeak detached itself from the others and
sounded on the stairs. The resemblance to the noise made by new boots
was stronger than ever. It was new boots. The door opened, and Mr.
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