“He’s having a lord’s life of it, while we’re slaving ourselves to death,” grumbled Mr. Kidd.  “I never see’im looking so fat and well.  By rights he oughtn’t to ’ave the same share as wot we’re going to ’ave; he ain’t doing none of the work.”

His ill-humour lasted until the night of the “Lead,” which, largely owing to the presence of a sporting fishmonger who had done well at the races that day, and some of his friends, realized a sum far beyond the expectations of the hard-working promoters.  The fishmonger led off by placing a five-pound note in the plate, and the packed audience breathed so hard that the plate-holder’s responsibility began to weigh upon his spirits.  In all, a financial tribute of thirty-seven pounds three and fourpence was paid to the memory of the late Mr. Gibbs.

“Over twelve quid apiece,” said the delighted Mr. Kidd as he bade his co-worker good night.  “Sounds too good to be true.”

The next day passed all too slowly, but work was over at last, and Mr. Kidd led the way over London Bridge a yard or two ahead of the more phlegmatic Mr. Brown.  Mr. Gibbs was in his old corner at the “Wheelwright’s Arms,” and, instead of going into ecstasies over the sum realized, hinted darkly that it would have been larger if he had been allowed to have had a hand in it.

“It’ll ’ardly pay me for my trouble,” he said, shaking his head.  “It’s very dull over ’ere all alone by myself.  By the time you two have ’ad your share, besides taking wot I owe you, there’ll be ’ardly anything left.”

“I’ll talk to you another time,” said Mr. Kidd, regarding him fixedly.  “Wot you’ve got to do now is to come acrost the river with us.”

“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.