unless you have somebody to share them with," pursued Mr. Wright.

Miss Bradshaw's eyes sparkled, and at that moment the shop-bell tinkled
and a lively whistle sounded. She rose and went into the shop, and Mr.
Wright settled back in his chair and scowled darkly as he saw the
intruder.

"Good evening," said the latter. "I want a sixpenny smoke for twopence,
please. How are we this evening? Sitting up and taking nourishment?"

Miss Bradshaw told him to behave himself.

"Always do," said the young man. "That's why I can never get anybody to
play with. I had such an awful dream about you last night that I
couldn't rest till I saw you. Awful it was."

"What was it?" inquired Miss Bradshaw.

"Dreamt you were married," said Mr. Hills, smiling at her.

Miss Bradshaw tossed her head. "Who to, pray?" she inquired.

"Me," said Mr. Hills, simply. "I woke up in a cold perspiration.
Halloa! is that Georgie in there? How are you, George? Better?"

"I'm all right," said Mr. Wright, with dignity, as the other hooked the
door open with his stick and nodded at him.

"Well, why don't you look it?" demanded the lively Mr. Hills. "Have you
got your feet wet, or what?"