"

"All right, Liz. I forgot that. Why didn't yer say so before?"

She was contentedly silent most of the way, warned by instinct, after
the manner of women when they have gained their point by words.

Once he glanced over his shoulder with a short laugh. "Gorblime!" he
said, "I nearly thought the little beggar was a-follerin' along behind!"

When he left her at the door he said: "Look here, Liz. 'Ere's half a
quid. Git what yer want. Let her go. I'm goin' to graft again in the
mornin', and I'll come round and see yer to-morrer night."

Still she seemed troubled and uneasy.

"Ernie."

"Well. Wot now?"

"S'posin' it's a girl, Ernie."

Stowsher flung himself round impatiently.

"Oh, for God's sake, stow that! Yer always singin' out before yer
hurt.... There's somethin' else, ain't there--while the bloomin' shop's
open?"

"No, Ernie. Ain't you going to kiss me?... I'm satisfied."

"Satisfied! Yer don't want the kid to be arst 'oo 'is father was, do
yer? Yer'd better come along with me some day this week and git spliced.
Yer don't want to go frettin' or any of that funny business while it's
on."

"Oh, Ernie! do you really mean it?"--and she threw her arms round his
neck, and broke down at last.

. . . . .

"So-long, Liz. No more funny business now--I've had enough of it. Keep
yer pecker up, old girl. To-morrer night, mind." Then he added suddenly:
"Yer might have known I ain't that sort of a bloke"--and left abruptly.

Liz was very happy.

Mr. Smellingscheck

I met him in a sixpenny restaurant--"All meals, 6d.--Good beds, 1s."
That was before sixpenny restaurants rose to a third-class position,
and became possibly respectable places to live in, through the
establishment, beneath them, of fourpenny hash-houses (good beds, 6d.),
and, beneath THEM again, of THREE-penny "dining-rooms--CLEAN beds, 4d."

There were five beds in our apartment, the head of one against the foot
of the next, and so on round the room, with a space where the door and
washstand were. I chose the bed the head of which was near the foot of
his, because he looked like a man who took his bath regularly. I
should like, in the interests of sentiment, to describe the place as a
miserable, filthy, evil-smelling garret; but I can't--because it wasn't.
The room was large and airy; the floor was scrubbed and the windows
cleaned at least once a week, and the beds kept fresh and neat, which
is more--a good deal more--th