irely regaining her own good humour.

"I repeat," said Mrs. Stiffson, "what is my husband doing in your
company?"

"Ask him what he's doing in my flat," countered Cissie Boye
triumphantly.

"Look 'ere, mum," broke in Bindle in a soothing voice, "it's no use
a-playin' 'Amlet in a rage. You jest sit down and talk it over
friendly like, an' p'raps I can get a drop of Royal Richard from old
Sedgy. It's sort of been a shock to you, mum, I can see. Well, things
do look bad; anyhow, Royal Richard'll bring you round in two ticks."

Mrs. Stiffson turned upon Bindle a look that was meant to annihilate.

Bindle glanced across at Mr. Stiffson, who was mechanically rubbing
the middle of his person with a napkin, his eyes still fixed upon his
wife.

"Because your 'usband gets into the wrong duds," continued Bindle,
"ain't no reason why you should get into an 'owling temper, is it?"

There was a knock at the door and, without waiting for a reply, Mrs.
Sedge entered, wearing a canvas apron and a crape bonnet on one side
and emitting an almost overpowering aroma of Royal Richard. In her
hands she carried a large bowl of porridge. Marching across to the
table, she dumped it down in front of Mr. Stiffson.

"Ain't that jest like a man, forgettin' 'alf o' wot 'e ought to
remember!" she remarked and, without waiting for a reply, she stumped
out of the room, banging the door behind her.

Bindle sniffed the air like a hound.

"That's Royal Richard wot you can smell, mum," he explained.

Cissie Boye laughed.

Ignoring the interruption, Mrs. Stiffson returned to the attack.

"I demand an explanation!" Her voice shook with suppressed fury.

"Listen!" cried Cissie Boye, "if your boy will come and sleep in my
flat----"

"Sleep in your flat!" cried Mrs. Stiffson in something between a roar
and a scream. "Sleep in your flat!" She turned upon her husband.
"Jabez, did you hear that? Oh! you villain, you liar, you monster!"

"But--but, my dear," protested Mr. Stiffson, becoming articulate,
"Oscar was here all the time."

Cissie Boye giggled.

"So that is why you have put on your best clothes, you deceiver, you
viper, you scum!"

"Steady on, mum!" broke out Bindle. "'E ain't big enough to be all
them things; besides, if you starts a-megaphonin' like that, you'll
'ave all the other bunnies a-runnin' in to see wot's 'appened, an' if
you was to 'ear Number Seven's language, an' see wot Queenie calls 'er
face, Mr. S. might be a widow