Her husband turned without a word, and, retreating to the mat, executed a
prolonged double-shuffle.

"You needn't wear it out," said the surprised Mrs. Billing.

"We've got to make people 'appier," said her husband, seriously; "be
kinder to 'em, and brighten up their dull lives a bit. That's wot Mr.
Purnip says."

"You'll brighten 'em up all right," declared Mrs. Billing, with a sniff.
"I sha'n't forget last Tuesday week--no, not if I live to be a hundred.
You'd ha' brightened up the police-station if I 'adn't got you home just
in the nick of time."

Her husband, who was by this time busy under the scullery-tap, made no
reply. He came from it spluttering, and, seizing a small towel, stood in
the door-way burnishing his face and regarding his wife with a smile
which Mr. Purnip himself could not have surpassed. He sat down to
supper, and between bites explained in some detail the lines on which his
future life was to be run. As an earnest of good faith, he consented,
after a short struggle, to a slip of oil-cloth for the passage; a pair of
vases for the front room; and a new and somewhat expensive corn-cure for
Mrs. Billing.

"And let's 'ope you go on as you've begun," said that gratified lady.
"There's something in old Purnip after all. I've been worrying you for
months for that oilcloth. Are you going to help me wash up? Mr. Purnip
would."