'Well, why won't you tell me?'

'Oh, a thing's sifer when only one person knows where it is.'

This was a very discreet remark, but it set Mrs. Kemp in a whirlwind of
passion. She raised herself and sat up in the bed, flourishing her
clenched fist at her daughter.

'I know wot yer mean, you ---- you!' Her language was emphatic, her
epithets picturesque, but too forcible for reproduction. 'You think
I'd steal it,' she went on. 'I know yer! D'yer think I'd go an' tike
yer dirty money?'

'Well, mother,' said Liza, 'when I've told yer before, the money's
perspired like.'

'Wot d'yer mean?'

'It got less.'

'Well, I can't 'elp thet, can I? Anyone can come in 'ere and tike the
money.'

'If it's 'idden awy, they can't, can they, mother?' said Liza.

Mrs. Kemp shook her fist.

'You dirty slut, you,' she said, 'yer think I tike yer money! Why, you
ought ter give it me every week instead of savin' it up and spendin'