“So it does mine,” said Mr. Nugent, “but there’s a black currant down there, and I mean to have it.  ‘Waste not, want not.’”

“Make him put that knife down,” said Miss Kybird, as her mother entered the room.  Mrs. Kybird shook her head at him.  “You two are always quarrelling,” she said, archly, “just like a couple of—­couple of——­”

“Love-birds,” suggested Mr. Nugent.

Mrs. Kybird in great glee squeezed round to him and smote him playfully with her large, fat hand, and then, being somewhat out of breath with the exertion, sat down to enjoy the jest in comfort.

“That’s how you encourage him,” said her daughter; “no wonder he doesn’t behave.  No wonder he acts as if the whole place belongs to him.”

The remark was certainly descriptive of Mr. Nugent’s behaviour.  His easy assurance and affability had already made him a prime favourite with Mrs. Kybird, and had not been without its effect upon her daughter.  The constrained and severe company manners of Mr. Edward Silk showed up but poorly beside those of the paying guest, and Miss Kybird had on several occasions drawn comparisons which would have rendered both gentlemen uneasy if they had known of them.

Mr. Nugent carried the same easy good-fellowship with him the following week when, neatly attired in a second-hand suit from Mr. Kybird’s extensive stock, he paid a visit to Jem Hardy to talk over old times and discuss the future.

“You ought to make friends with your father,” said the latter; “it only wants a little common sense and mutual forbearance.”

“That’s all,” said Nugent; “sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?  No, all he wants is for me to clear out of Sunwich, and I’m not going to—­until it pleases me, at any rate.  It’s poison to him for me to be living at the Kybirds’ and pushing a trolley down on the quay.  Talk about love sweetening toil, that does.”

Hardy changed the subject, and Nugent, nothing loath, discoursed on his wanderings and took him on a personally conducted tour through the continent of Australia.  “And I’ve come back to lay my bones in Sunwich Churchyard,” he concluded, pathetically; “that is, when I’ve done with ’em.”

“A lot of things’ll happen before then,” said Hardy.

“I hope so,” rejoined Mr. Nugent, piously; “my desire is to be buried by my weeping great-grandchildren.  In fact, I’ve left instructions to that effect in my will—­all I have left, by the way.”

“You’re not going to keep on at this water-side work, I suppose?” said Hardy, making another effort to give the conversation a serious turn.

“The foreman doesn’t think so,” replied the other, as he helped himself to some whisky; “he has made several remarks to that effect lately.”

He leaned back in his chair and smoked thoughtfully, by no means insensible to the comfort of his surroundings.  He had not been in such comfortable quarters since he left home seven years before.  He thought of the untidy litter of the Kybirds’ back parlour, with the forlorn view of the yard in the rear.  Something of his reflections he confided to Hardy as he rose to leave.