e end was to be attained.

"Make 'im a laughing-stock, that's the best thing," said an elderly
labourer. "The police don't like being laughed at."

"'Ow?" demanded Mr. Grummit, with some asperity.

"There's plenty o' ways," said the old man.

"I should find 'em out fast enough if I 'ad a bucket dropped on my back,
I know."

Mr. Grummit made a retort the feebleness of which was somewhat balanced
by its ferocity, and subsided into glum silence. His back still ached,
but, despite that aid to intellectual effort, the only ways he could
imagine of making the constable look foolish contained an almost certain
risk of hard labour for himself.

He pondered the question for a week, and meanwhile the tins--to the
secret disappointment of Mr. Evans--remained untouched in his yard. For
the whole of the time he went about looking, as Mrs. Grummit expressed
it, as though his dinner had disagreed with him.

"I've been talking to old Bill Smith," he said, suddenly, as he came in
one night.

Mrs. Grummit looked up, and noticed with wifely pleasure that he was
looking almost cheerful.

"He's given me a tip," said Mr. Grummit, with a faint smile; "a copper
mustn't come into a free-born Englishman's 'ouse unless he's invited."

"Wot of it?" inquired his wife. "You wasn't think of asking him in, was
you?"

Mr. Grummit regarded her almost play-fully. "If a copper comes in
without being told to," he continued, "he gets into trouble for it. Now
d'ye see?"

"But he won't come," said the puzzled Mrs. Grummit.

Mr. Grummit winked. "Yes 'e will if you scream loud enough," he
retorted. "Where's the copper-stick?"

"Have you gone mad?" demanded his wife, "or do you think I 'ave?"

"You go up into the bedroom," said Mr. Grummit, emphasizing his remarks
with his forefinger. "I come up and beat the bed black and blue with the
copper-stick; you scream for mercy and call out 'Help!' 'Murder!' and
things like that. Don't call out 'Police!' cos Bill ain't sure about
that part. Evans comes bursting in to save your life--I'll leave the
door on the latch--and there you are. He's sure to get into trouble for
it. Bill said so. He's made a study o' that sort o' thing."

Mrs. Grummit pondered this simple plan so long that her husband began to
lose patience. At last, against her better sense, she rose and fetched
the weapon in question.

"And you be careful what you're hitting," she said, as they went upstairs
to bed. "We'd be