She leaned against the iron palings of a house for support, while Mr. Jobson, standing on the kerb, looked up and down the road for a cab.  A four-wheeler appeared just in time to prevent the scandal—­of Mrs. Jobson removing her boots in the street.

“Thank goodness,” she gasped, as she climbed in.  “Never mind about untying ’em, Alf; cut the laces and get ’em off quick.”

They drove home with the boots standing side by side on the seat in front of them.  Mr. Jobson got out first and knocked at the door, and as soon as it opened Mrs. Jobson pattered across the intervening space with the boots dangling from her hand.  She had nearly reached the door when Mr. Foley, who had a diabolical habit of always being on hand when he was least wanted, appeared suddenly from the offside of the cab.

“Been paddlin’?” he inquired.

Mrs. Jobson, safe in her doorway, drew herself up and, holding the boots behind her, surveyed him with a stare of high-bred disdain.

“Been paddlin’?” he inquired

“I see you going down the road in ’em,” said the unabashed Mr. Foley, “and I says to myself, I says, ’Pride’ll bear a pinch, but she’s going too far.  If she thinks that she can squeedge those little tootsywootsies of ‘ers into them boo—­’”

The door slammed violently and left him exchanging grins with Mr. Jobson.

“How’s the ’at?” he inquired.

Mr. Jobson winked.  “Bet you a level ’arf-dollar I ain’t wearing it next Sunday,” he said, in a hoarse whisper.

Mr. Foley edged away.

“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’ve had a good many bets with you first and last, Alf, but I can’t remember as I ever won one yet.  So long.”

FRIENDS IN NEED

R. Joseph Gibbs finished his half-pint in the private bar of the Red Lion with the slowness of a man unable to see where the next was coming from, and, placing the mug on the counter, filled his pipe from a small paper of tobacco and shook his head slowly at his companions.

“First I’ve ’ad since ten o’clock this morning,” he said, in a hard voice.

“Cheer up,” said Mr. George Brown.

“It can’t go on for ever,” said Bob Kidd, encouragingly.

“All I ask for—­is work,” said Mr. Gibbs, impressively.  “Not slavery, mind yer, but work.”

“It’s rather difficult to distinguish,” said Mr. Brown.

“’Specially for some people,” added Mr. Kidd.

“Go on,” said Mr. Gibbs, gloomily.  “Go on.  Stand a man ’arf a pint, and then go and hurt ’is feelings.  Twice yesterday I wondered to myself what it would feel like to make a hole in the water.”

“Lots o’ chaps do do it,” said Mr. Brown, musingly.

“And leave their wives and families to starve,” said Mr. Gibbs, icily.

“Very often the wife is better off,” said his friend.  “It’s one mouth less for her to feed.  Besides, she gen’rally gets something.  When pore old Bill went they ’ad a Friendly Lead at the ‘King’s Head’ and got his missis pretty nearly seventeen pounds.”