Mrs. Billing made no reply, and her husband sprang to his feet as a long,
thin wailing sounded through the house. A note of temper crept into it
and strengthened it.

"Wot is it?" demanded Mr. Billing again. "It's--it's Mrs. Smith's
Charlie," stammered his wife.

"In--in my bedroom?" exclaimed her husband, in incredulous accents.
"Wot's it doing there?"

"I took it for the night," said his wife hurriedly. "Poor thing, what
with the others being ill she's 'ad a dreadful time, and she said if I'd
take Charlie for a few--for a night, she might be able to get some
sleep."

Mr. Billing choked. "And what about my sleep?" he shouted. "Chuck it
outside at once. D'ye hear me?"

His words fell on empty air, his wife having already sped upstairs to
pacify Master Smith by a rhythmical and monotonous thumping on the back.
Also she lifted up a thin and not particularly sweet voice and sang to
him. Mr. Billing, finishing his supper in indignant silence, told
himself grimly that he was "beginning to have enough of it."

He spent the evening at the Charlton Arms, and, returning late, went
slowly and heavily up to bed. In the light of a shaded candle he saw a
small, objectionable-looking infant fast asleep on two chairs by the side
of the bed.