Banker, give me my money at once, if you please!" Mr.Knifton laughed, and took some gold and silver from his waistcoat pocket.
"No, no," said Mrs.Knifton, "you may want what you have got there for necessary expenses.

Is that all the money you have about you?
What do I feel here ?" and she tapped her husband on the chest, just over the breast-pocket of his coat.
Mr.Knifton laughed again, and produced his pocketbook.

His wife snatched it out of his hand, opened it, and drew out some bank-notes, put them back again immediately, and, closing the pocketbook, stepped across the room to my poor mother's little walnut-wood book-case, the only bit of valuable furniture we had in the house.
"What are you going to do there ?" asked Mr.Knifton, following his wife.
Mrs.Knifton opened the glass door of the book-case, put the pocketbook in a vacant place on one of the lower shelves, closed and locked the door again, and gave me the key.
"You called me a spendthrift just now," she said.

"There is my answer.
Not one farthing of that money shall you spend at Cliverton on _me_.
Keep the key in your pocket, Bessie, and, whatever Mr.Knifton may say, on no account let him have it until we call again on our way back.

No, sir, I won't trust you with that money in your pocket in the town of Cliverton.