rimidge with Mrs Blathers, an'
it's bin 'ard work. But she 'ave comed off second best, _I_ knows."

As a black eye, dishevelled hair, and a scratched nose constituted Mrs
Rampy's share in the "scrimidge," Mrs Blathers's condition could not
have been enviable. But it was evident from Mrs Rampy's tone and
manner that a more powerful foe than Mrs Blathers had assaulted her
that afternoon.

"Ah, Mrs Rampy," said her visitor, pouring out a cup of tea with a
liberal allowance of sugar, "if you'd only give up that--"

"Now, old Liz," interrupted her friend impressively, "don't you go for
to preach me a sermon on drink. It's all very well to preach religion.
That's nat'ral like, an' don't much signify. You're welcome. But,
wotiver you do, old Liz, keep off the drink."

"Well, that's just what I do," replied Liz promptly, as she handed her
friend a cup of hot tea, "and that's just what I was goin' to advise
_you_ to do. Keep off the drink."

Feeling that she had slightly committed herself, Mrs Rampy gave a short
laugh and proceeded to drink with much gusto, and with a preliminary
"Here's luck!" from the force of habit.

"But what's the matter with you to-day, Liz?" she asked, setting her cup
down empty and looking, if not asking, for more; "you looks dull."

"Do I? I shouldn't ought to, I'm sure, for there's more blessin's than
sorrows in _my_ cup," said Liz.

"Just you put another lump o' sugar in _my_ cup, anyhow," returned her
friend. "I likes it sweet, Liz. Thank 'ee. But what 'as 'appened to
you?"

Old Liz explained her circumstances in a pitiful tone, yet without
making very much phrase about it, though she could not refrain from
expressing wonder that her railway dividends had dwindled down to
nothing.

"Now look 'ee here, chimley-pot Liz," cried Mrs Rampy in a fierce
voice, and bringing her clenched fist down on the table with a crash
that made the tea-cups dance. "You ain't the only 'ooman as 'as got a
tea-pot."

She rose, took a masculine stride towards a cupboard, and returned with
a tea-pot of her own, which, though of the same quality as that of her
friend, and with a similarly broken spout, was much larger. Taking off
the lid she emptied its contents in a heap--silver and copper with one
or two gold pieces intermixed--on the table.

"There! Them's my savin's, an' you're welcome to what you need, Liz.
For as sure as you're alive and kickin', if you've got into the 'ands of
Skinflint Lock