"If you like we might go and look at a workshop I have heard of and which
might suit. Some German comrades rented it for some time; I believe they
used it as a club-room, but I dare say it would answer your purpose, and I
believe it is still unoccupied."

Of course I readily assented; it was indeed a relief to hear of some
definite proposal, and together we set off. Little M'Dermott, who
evidently did not much relish Short's company, armed himself with leaflets
and set off on a propagandising expedition, and Kosinski and I wended our
way in search of the office. At last we stopped in front of a little
green-grocer's shop in a side street off the Hampstead Road. "The place I
mean is behind here," explained Kosinski; "the woman in the shop lets it;
we will go in and speak with her."

Kosinski stepped inside and addressed a voluminous lady who emerged from
the back shop.

"Oh, good day, Mr. Cusins," she exclaimed, a broad smile overspreading
her face; "what can I do for you?"

Kosinksi explained our errand, and the good lady preceded us up a narrow
yard which led to the workshop in question. She turned out to be as
loquacious as she was bulky, a fair specimen of the good-natured cockney
gossip, evidently fond of the convivial glass, not over-choice in her
language, the creature of her surroundings, which were not of the
sweetest, but withal warm-hearted and sympathetic, with that inner hatred
of the police common to all who belong to the coster class, and able to
stand up for her rights, if necessary, both with her tongue and her fists.
She showed us over a damp, ill-lighted basement shop, in a corner of which
was a ladder leading to a large, light shop, which seemed well suited to