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."

Mr. Billing appeared not to hear, and, taking up his cap, strolled slowly
in the direction of the Blue Lion. It was a beautiful summer evening,
and his bosom swelled as he thought of the improvements that a little
brotherliness might effect in Elk Street. Engrossed in such ideas, it
almost hurt him to find that, as he entered one door of the Blue Lion,
two gentlemen, forgetting all about their beer, disappeared through the
other.

"Wot 'ave they run away like that for?" he demanded, looking round.
"I wouldn't hurt 'em."

"Depends on wot you call hurting, Joe," said a friend.

Mr. Billing shook his head. "They've no call to be afraid of me," he