on 'em as I've made inquiries about. 'E'll be a dook, if a kid pegs out
as is expected to, and anyhow 'e'll be a markis, and 'e means the
straight thing--no errer. It ain't fair for me to stand in 'er way."

"Well," I says, "you know your own business, but it seems to me she
wouldn't have much way to stand in if it hadn't been for you."

"Oh, that's all right," he says. "I'm fond enough of the gell, but I
shan't clamour for a tombstone with wiolets, even if she ain't ever Mrs.
Capt'n Kit. Business is business; and I ain't going to queer 'er pitch
for 'er."

I've often wondered what she'd a' said, if he'd up and put the case to
her plain, for she was a good sort; but, naturally enough, her head was a
bit swelled, and she'd read so much rot about herself in the papers that
she'd got at last to half believe some of it. The thought of her
connection with the well-known judge seemed to hamper her at times, and
she wasn't quite so chummy with "Kipper" as used to be the case in the
Mile-End Road days, and he wasn't the sort as is slow to see a thing.

One day when he was having lunch by himself, and I was waiting on him, he
says, raising his glass to his lips, "Well, 'Enery, here's luck to yer! I
won't be seeing you agen for some time."

"Oh," I says. "What's up now?"

"I am," he says, "or rather my time is. I'm off to Africa."

"Oh," I says, "and what about--"