narrow staircase; then the door was pushed open and a man entered--a
broad-chested, broad-faced rough-looking man with stubbly whiskers,
wearing the dress and rusty boots of a labourer.

He drew a chair to the table and sat down in silence. Presently he turned
to his wife.

"Well, what have you got to say?" he asked, in a somewhat unsteady voice.

"Nothing," she returned. "What have you got?"

"I've got tired of walking about for a job, and I want something to eat
and drink, and that's what _I've_ got."

"Then you'd better go where you can get it," said she. "You can't find
work, but you can find drink, and you ain't sober now."

For only answer he began whistling and drumming noisily on the table.
Suddenly he paused and looked at her.

"Ain't you done that charing job, then?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes; and what's more, I got a florin and gave it to Mrs. Clark," she
replied.

"You blarsted fool! what did you do that for?"

"Because I'm not going to have my few sticks taken for rent and be turned
into the street with my girl. That's what I did it for; and if you won't
work you'll starve, so don't you come to me for anything."