ver, yet, put in an appearance.

Presently the scrubbing stopped and shambling steps came along the
landing as someone slopped along, dragging his slippers into which he
had merely thrust his toes. There was a scratching sort of tap at the
door. Marcella opened it quickly.

A man stood in the doorway, a man with bent shoulders, grey hair and
bent back. His face was yellow and unhealthy-looking; his eyes were
filmed and colourless. He seemed half asleep as he looked round over his
shoulder suspiciously.

"Missus--have you got a tray bit?" he whispered.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A tray bit, missus--just thruppence--a mouldy thruppence to get a
livener."

"Oh, you want some money?" she said hurriedly, and realizing the
impossibility of offering a grown up man threepence gave him half a
crown. He shambled off without a word and she saw no more of him. Later,
when Louis came down from the roof, he slid along the landing on the
soap the scrubber had left there. When Marcella went down to the kitchen
where Mrs. King was already busy ironing, the mystery was explained.

"My boss has gone off for the day," she complained. "I went up into
Dutch Frank's room just now, and found the pail of water left there!
He'd hardly begun his scrubbing. I don't know where he got his money
from."

"Was _that_ your husband?" cried Marcella, stopping short in her
toast-making.

"Oh, he's bin at you, has he?" said Mrs. King resignedly.

"I gave him--a little money. I didn't know he was your husband," said
Marcella apologetically.

"I ought to have warned you, but there, you can't think of every
blooming thing at once. Don't you worry, kid. I'm not blaming you. He
would have been at you sooner or later. It's all the same in the long
run, but it means I've got to scrub the floors. And my back's that
bad--I do suffer with my back something cruel."

"Where has he gone, then?"

"Oh, beer-bumming. He goes off every day, and comes in every night after
closing time, shikkered up."

"I've never seen him before," ventured Marcella.

"He's a lad, Bob is. We had a bonser hotel once, kid--a tied house, you
know. He was manager, on'y he drunk us out of it. So then I took on this
place on my own--got the furniture hire system, else he'd raise money on
it, and sell it up under me. He's no damn good to me, you know,
kid--only I do manage to get a bit of scrubbing out of him, of a
morning."

"Does he scrub floors?" asked Marcella in awestruc