when it amounts to a hundred, I'll do
something with it—put it in the bank, or invest it in
a building society, or something of that sort."
But, somehow, the money didn't grow as I
expected. You see, I always had the key of that
drawer in my pocket, and at any time, if I ran
a little short, through being rather free with my
mates or going upon the spree, I had nothing
to do but go to the drawer and help myself. I
hesitated over it sometimes, but never for long;
the drawer was so handy, and I used to say to
myself, "If I take a sovereign it won't reduce
the money much, and I can put it back again
next week. But it generally happened when
next week came that it wasn't convenient to put
the money back. And so I went ou going to
the drawer for sovereigns and half-sovereigns,
until the bit of money dwindled down so low
that it wasn't worth keeping. It's the same
with drink. If you make up your mind that
you won't taste a drop for a week, and stick to
it, you are all right; but only be persuaded to
make a beginning—to take one glass, just one,
and you take another and another, and then it's
all wrong. It's the same, too, I dare say, with
swindling and robbing your master: once make
a beginning, and on you go, like rolling down
One-Tree-hill on Whit-Monday, the further you
go, the faster you go.

Susan used to say to me, "George, how's the
money getting on?" And she used to say it
in a sly, sarcastic sort of way, meaning that I
was spending it, and that it was going very
fast. I know it was, but I didn't like to
acknowledge it, and always said: "Oh! it's all
right in the drawer, there, what's of it."
'Well, George," she would say, "you put
away ten pounds about a month ago, and as
Christmas is coming on, it will enable us to
buy all we require, and give a little party to
our friends." "Yes," I would say, " but you
know, my dear, that I have had to pay
So-and-so, and So-and-so;" and then I'd name
certain bills, and the subscription to my lodge
for I'm an Odd Fellow and add it up and
subtract it from the ten, and Susan, not
being good at figures, would be quite puzzled,
and give the sum up in despair. But she
found me out more than once. One day, when
I came home to dinner, she says to me,
"George," she says, "you left the key of the
drawer on the mantelshelf this morning." She
didn't look at me, but went on carving the
boiled rabbit. My wife is odd that way, and
not like the generality of women. Nagging is
not one of her faults. She doesn't say much,
but she thinks the more. So, when she told
me about the key in that quiet way, I knew she
had been to the drawer and counted the money.
That's where I don't hold with Bluebeard, lie
might have tried his wife with anything but a
secret; it is downright unreasonable to expect
a woman not to be curious. I merely said
"Oh!" in an indifferent kind of a way; but I
am sure my looks convicted me. However,
Susan did not make any remark about the
money being nearly all gone, but, by-and-by,
when she was helping me to a suety dumpling,
she says in her usual demure way, "Don't you
think, George, it would be a good thing to put a
little money away in the savings-bank?" "Well,"
I says, "it wouldn't be a bad thing, Susan."
"No," she says, "I'm sure it wouldn't, and if
I was you I would make a beginning." "Well,"
I says, "I would, if I knew how to go about
it." "There's no difficulty about that," Susan
says; "you've only to go to Welbeck-street,
and put a little in, and they'll give you a book,
and there you are." "Very well, Susan," I
says, "I'll take your advice, and go to Welbeck-street
to-morrow."

I was as good as my word, and next day, at
the dinner-hour, I walked up to Welbeck-street
to put in three pound ten, which was all that
was left of the fifteen. But, lo and behold!
when I got to the bank it was shut, and for the
moment I thought it had broke, or the manager
bolted with the funds, or something; but on looking
about I noticed a brass-plate on the wall
with information about the bank hours, and from
that I learned that the bank was only open three
days a week, from ten to two in the morning,
and from six to eight in the evening. I had
come on the wrong day. I was a good bit vexed
to have all my trouble for my pains, but Susan,
when I told her, took it quite quiet, and says,
"Never mind, George, you can go again on
Saturday, when the bank is open." Well, I
fully resolved to go, and on Saturday morning I
took the money with me, intending to walk over
to the bank after my work. However, just as I
was leaving the shop at six o'clock, who should
I meet but an old mate of mine, that I hadn't
seen for years. Nothing would do for Dave but
I must go and have a glass with him. Well,
you know, you can't refuse to drink with a mate,
especially when he's been away in Birmingham
for ever so long, and got a holiday on purpose
to come up and see his friends. So in we goes
to the Yorkshire Grey and has a glass of
rum-and-water each, and you know how the time
slips away when old friends meet as have been
long parted. Dave had so much to tell me
about Birmingham gun-barrels, and I had so
much to tell Dave about Clerkenwell
watch-springs, and one thing followed another,
including glasses of rum-and-water, that it was a
quarter to eight in no time. It was no use; I
couldn't get to Welbeck-street in a quarter of
an hour unless I took a cab, and it didn't seem
natural like to take a cab to go to a savings-bank
with three pound ten: so I stopped with
Dave and had another glass.

When I went home and told Susan, she didn't
say an angry word, but just remarked that I
was very unlucky. You don't know how
aggravating Susan is in that way. I'd rather
tongue-pie a good deal, than that
sit-and-say-nothing, but think-the-more way of hers.
It's more aggravating than saying the thing
right out; for you can't tell what an awful
character a quiet woman thinks you are. For
my part, I'd rather have teacups. However, I
was resolved to show Susan that I was in