trembling voice.

"Master?" she ses, firing up. "I'll soon show you who's master. Go out
o' my bar; I won't 'ave you in it. D'ye 'ear? Go out of it."

Dixon turned away and began to serve a customer. "D'ye hear wot I say?"
ses Mrs. Dixon, stamping 'er foot. "Go out o' my bar. Here, Charlie!"

"Hullo!" ses 'er cousin, who 'ad been standing looking on and grinning.

"Take the master and put 'im into the parlour," ses Mrs. Dixon, "and
don't let 'im come out till he's begged my pardon."

"Go on," ses Charlie, brushing up 'is shirt-sleeves; "in you go. You
'ear wot she said."

He caught 'old of George Dixon, who 'ad just turned to the back o' the
bar to give a customer change out of 'arf a crown, and ran 'im kicking
and struggling into the parlour. George gave 'im a silly little punch in
the chest, and got such a bang on the 'ead back that at fust he thought
it was knocked off.

When 'e came to 'is senses agin the door leading to the bar was shut, and
'is wife's uncle, who 'ad been asleep in the easy-chair, was finding
fault with 'im for waking 'im up.

"Why can't you be quiet and peaceable?" he ses, shaking his 'ead at him.
"I've been 'ard at work all the morning thinking wot colour to paint the
back-door, and this is the second time I've been woke up since dinner.
You're old enough to know better."

"Go and sleep somewhere else, then," ses Dixon. "I don't want you 'ere
at all, or your boys neither. Go and give somebody else a treat; I've
'ad enough of the whole pack of you."

[Illustration: "'Go and sleep somewhere else, then,' ses Dixon."]

He sat down and put 'is feet in the fender, and old Burge, as soon as he
'ad got 'is senses back, went into the bar and complained to 'is niece,
and she came into the parlour like a thunderstorm.

"You'll beg my uncle's pardon as well as mine afore you come out o' that
room," she said to her 'usband; "mind that."

George Dixon didn't say a word; the shame of it was a'most more than 'e
could stand. Then 'e got up to go out o' the parlour and Charlie pushed
'im back agin. Three times he tried, and then 'e stood up and looked at
'is wife.

"I've been a good 'usband to you," he ses; "but there's no satisfying
you. You ought to ha' married somebody that would ha' knocked you about,
and then you'd ha' been happy. I'm too fond of a quiet life to suit
you."

"Are you going to beg my pardon and my uncle's pardon?" ses 'is wife,
stamping 'er foot.

"No," ses