so hard that the plate-holder's responsibility began to weigh upon his
spirits. In all, a financial tribute of thirty-seven pounds three and
fourpence was paid to the memory of the late Mr. Gibbs.

"Over twelve quid apiece," said the delighted Mr. Kidd as he bade his
co-worker good night. "Sounds too good to be true."

The next day passed all too slowly, but work was over at last, and Mr.
Kidd led the way over London Bridge a yard or two ahead of the more
phlegmatic Mr. Brown. Mr. Gibbs was in his old corner at the
"Wheelwright's Arms," and, instead of going into ecstasies over the sum
realized, hinted darkly that it would have been larger if he had been
allowed to have had a hand in it.

"It'll 'ardly pay me for my trouble," he said, shaking his head. "It's
very dull over 'ere all alone by myself. By the time you two have 'ad
your share, besides taking wot I owe you, there'll be 'ardly anything
left."

"I'll talk to you another time," said Mr. Kidd, regarding him fixedly.
"Wot you've got to do now is to come acrost the river with us."

"What for?" demanded Mr. Gibbs.

"We're going to break the joyful news to your old woman that you're alive
afore she starts spending money wot isn't hers," said Mr. Kidd. "And we
want you to be close by in case she don't believe us.

"Well, do it gentle, mind," said the fond husband. "We don't want 'er
screaming, or anything o' that sort. I know 'er better than wot you do,