y all three were and at the same time
how they were all perfectly convinced they were right. The only factor
left out of account was Mrs. Murdoch's own behavior. He wondered rather
what effect that gentleman friend would produce on the husband. He
decided that he had better go back to bed until the racket subsided.
Then, just as he was turning away in the midst of an outpouring of
vileness far more foul than anything uttered so far, he heard what
sounded like a blow. That of course could not be tolerated, and he
descended to intervene.

The passage was the field of battle, and the narrow space seemed to give
not only an added virulence to the fight, but also an added grotesquery.
When Michael arrived at the head of the staircase, Alf had pinned his
wife to the wall and was shouting to Poppy over his shoulder to get back
into her own room. Poppy would go halfway, but always a new insult would
occur to her, and she would return to fling it at Mrs. Murdoch, stabbing
the while into its place again a hatpin which during her retreats she
always half withdrew.

As for Mrs. Murdoch, she was by now weeping hysterically and
occasionally making sudden forward plunges that collapsed like jelly.

Michael paused at the head of the stairs, wondering what to say. It
seemed to him really rather a good thing that Alf was restraining his
wife. It would be extremely unpleasant to have to separate the two women
if they closed with each other. He had almost decided to retire upstairs
again, when Poppy caught sight of him and at once turned her abuse in
his direction.

"What's it got to do with you?" she screamed. "What's the good in you
standing gaping there? We all know what _you_ are. We all know what
she's always going up to _your_ room for."

Mrs. Murdoch was heaving and puffing and groaning, and while Alf held
her, his rolling eye with fierce and meaningless stare nearly made
Michael laugh. However, he managed to be serious, and gravely advised
Poppy to go to bed.

"Don't you dare try to order me about!" she shrieked. "Keep your
poncified ways for that fat old maggot which her husband can't hardly
hold, and I don't blame him. She's about as big as a omnibus."

"Oh, you wicked woman," sobbed Mrs. Murdoch. "Oh, you mean, hateful
snake-in-the-grass! Oh, you filth!"

"Hold your jaw," commanded Alf. "If you don't want me to punch into
you."

"All day she's in his room. Let him stand up and deny it if he can, the
dirty tyke. Why d