of this
vague happening which the eldest child of 11 explained as meaning that
"Teddy's going to be put in the deep hole."

It was after 10 when Nellie went. Mrs. Hobbs cried again as Nellie kissed
her "good-night." Mr. Hobbs shook hands with genuine friendship. "I don't
know whatever we'd have done without you, Miss Lawton," he said,
bashfully, following her to the door.

"I don't know what they'll do without you, Mr. Hobbs," retorted Nellie,
whose quick tongue was noted in the neighbourhood.

He did not answer, only fumbled with the door-knob as she stood on the
step in the brilliant moonlight.

"Give it up!" urged Nellie. "It makes things worse and they're bad enough
at the best. It's not right to your wife and the children."

"I don't go on the spree often," pleaded Mr. Hobbs.

"Not as often as some," admitted Nellie, "but if it's only once in a
life-time it's too often. A man who has drink in him isn't a man. He
makes himself lower than the beasts and we're low enough as it is without
going lower ourselves. He hurts himself and he hurts his family and he
hurts his mates. He's worse than a blackleg."

"I don't see as it's so bad as that," protested Mr. Hobbs.

"Yes, it is," insisted Nellie, quickly. "Every bit as bad. It's drink
that makes most of the blacklegs, anyway. Most of them are men whose
manhood has been drowned out of them with liquor and the weak men in the
unions are the drunkards who have no heart when the whisky's out of them.
Everybody knows that. And when men who aren't as bad feel down-hearted
and despairing instead of bracing up and finding out what makes it they
cheer up at a pub and imagine they're jolly good fellows when they're
just cowards dodging their duty. They get so they can't take any pleasure
except in going on the spree and if they only go on once in a month or
two "--this was a hit at Hobbs--"they're the worse for it. Why, look
here, Mr. Hobbs, if I hadn't been here you'd have gone to-night and
brought home beer and comforted yourselves getting fuddled. That's so,
you know, and it wouldn't be right. It's just that sort of thing "--she
added softly--"that stops us seeing how it is the little ones die when
they shouldn't. If everybody would knock off drinking for ten years,
everybody, we'd have everything straightened out by then and nobody would
ever want to go on the spree again."

She stood with her back to the moonlight, fingering the post of the door.
Mr. Hobbs fumbled s