“What for?” demanded Mr. Gibbs.

“We’re going to break the joyful news to your old woman that you’re alive afore she starts spending money wot isn’t hers,” said Mr. Kidd.  “And we want you to be close by in case she don’t believe us.

“Well, do it gentle, mind,” said the fond husband.  “We don’t want ’er screaming, or anything o’ that sort.  I know ’er better than wot you do, and my advice to you is to go easy.”

He walked along by the side of them, and, after some demur, consented, as a further disguise, to put on a pair of spectacles, for which Mr. Kidd’s wife’s mother had been hunting high and low since eight o’clock that morning.

“You doddle about ’ere for ten minutes,” said Mr. Kidd, as they reached the Monument, “and then foller on.  When you pass a lamp-post ’old your handkerchief up to your face.  And wait for us at the corner of your road till we come for you.”

He went off at a brisk pace with Mr. Brown, a pace moderated to one of almost funeral solemnity as they approached the residence of Mrs. Gibbs.  To their relief she was alone, and after the usual amenities thanked them warmly for all they had done for her.

“I’d do more than that for pore Joe,” said Mr. Brown.

“They—­they ’aven’t found ’im yet?” said the widow.

Mr. Kidd shook his head.  “My idea is they won’t find ’im,” he said, slowly.

“Went down on the ebb tide,” explained Mr. Brown; and spoilt Mr. Kidd’s opening.

“Wherever he is ’e’s better off,” said Mrs. Gibbs.

“No more trouble about being out o’ work; no more worry; no more pain.  We’ve all got to go some day.

“Yes,” began Mr. Kidd; “but—­

“I’m sure I don’t wish ’im back,” said Mrs. Gibbs; “that would be sinful.”

“But ’ow if he wanted to come back?” said Mr. Kidd, playing for an opening.

“And ’elp you spend that money,” said Mr. Brown, ignoring the scowls of his friend.

Mrs. Gibbs looked bewildered.  “Spend the money?” she began.

“Suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, “suppose he wasn’t drownded after all?  Only last night I dreamt he was alive.”

“So did I,” said Mr. Brown.

“He was smiling at me,” said Mr. Kidd, in a tender voice. “‘Bob,’ he ses, ‘go and tell my pore missis that I’m alive,’ he ses; ’break it to ‘er gentle.’”

“It’s the very words he said to me in my dream,” said Mr. Brown.  “Bit strange, ain’t it?”

“Very,” said Mrs. Gibbs.

“I suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, after a pause, “I suppose you haven’t been dreaming about ’im?”

“No; I’m a teetotaller,” said the widow.

The two gentlemen exchanged glances, and Mr. Kidd, ever of an impulsive nature, resolved to bring matters to a head.

“Wot would you do if Joe was to come in ’ere at this door?” he asked.

“Scream the house down,” said the widow, promptly.

“Scream—­scream the ’ouse down?” said the distressed Mr. Kidd.