In this subtle antagonism they knew each other like old friends, they
were as shrewd with one another almost as man and wife. But Annie had
always kept him sufficiently at arm's length. Besides, she had a boy of
her own.

The Statutes fair, however, came in November, at Bestwood. It happened
that Annie had the Monday night off. It was a drizzling ugly night, yet
she dressed herself up and went to the fair ground. She was alone, but
she expected soon to find a pal of some sort.

The roundabouts were veering round and grinding out their music, the side
shows were making as much commotion as possible. In the coco-nut shies
there were no coco-nuts, but artificial war-time substitutes, which the
lads declared were fastened into the irons. There was a sad decline in
brilliance and luxury. None the less, the ground was muddy as ever, there
was the same crush, the press of faces lighted up by the flares and the
electric lights, the same smell of naphtha and a few fried potatoes, and
of electricity.

Who should be the first to greet Miss Annie on the showground but John
Thomas? He had a black overcoat buttoned up to his chin, and a tweed cap
pulled down over his brows, his face between was ruddy and smiling and
handy as ever. She knew so well the way his mouth moved.

She was very glad to have a 'boy'. To be at the Statutes without a fellow
was no fun. Instantly, like the gallant he was, he took her on the
dragons, grim-toothed, round-about switchbacks. It was not nearly so
exciting as a tram-car actually. But, then, to be seated in a shaking,
green dragon, uplifted above the sea of bubble faces, careering in a
rickety fashion in the lower heavens, whilst John Thomas leaned over her,