“You wouldn’t believe if I was to tell you.” ses Charlie, getting up to go, “and besides, I don’t want any of you to think as ’ow I am worse than wot I am.”

He shook his ’cad at them sorrowful-like, and afore they could stop ’im he ’ad gone.  Old Cook shouted arter ’im, but it was no use, and the others was running into the scullery to fill the bowl agin for Emma.

Mrs. Cook went round to ’is lodgings next morning, but found that ’e was out.  They began to fancy all sorts o’ things then, but Charlie turned up agin that evening more miserable than ever.

“I went round to see you this morning,” ses Mrs. Cook, “but you wasn’t at ’ome.”

“I never am, ’ardly,” ses Charlie.  “I can’t be—­it ain’t safe.”

“Why not?” ses Mrs. Cook, fidgeting.

“If I was to tell you, you’d lose your good opinion of me,” ses Charlie.

“It wouldn’t be much to lose,” ses Mrs. Cook, firing up.

Charlie didn’t answer ’er.  When he did speak he spoke to the old man, and he was so down-’arted that ’e gave ’im the chills a’most, He ’ardly took any notice of Emma, and, when Mrs. Cook spoke about the shop agin, said that chandlers’ shops was for happy people, not for ’im.

By the time they sat down to supper they was nearly all as miserable as Charlie ’imself.  From words he let drop they all seemed to ’ave the idea that the police was arter ’im, and Mrs. Cook was just asking ’im for wot she called the third and last time, but wot was more likely the hundred and third, wot he’d done, when there was a knock at the front door, so loud and so sudden that old Cook and young Bill both cut their mouths at the same time.

“Anybody ‘ere o’ the name of Emma Cook?” ses a man’s voice, when young Bill opened the door.

“She’s inside,” ses the boy, and the next moment Jack Bates followed ’im into the room, and then fell back with a start as ’e saw Charlie Tagg.

“Ho, ’ere you are, are you?” he ses, looking at ’im very black.  “Wot’s the matter?” ses Mrs. Cook, very sharp.

“I didn’t expect to ‘ave the pleasure o’ seeing you ’ere, my lad,” ses Jack, still staring at Charlie, and twisting ’is face up into awful scowls.  “Which is Emma Cook?”

“Miss Cook is my name,” ses Emma, very sharp.  “Wot d’ye want?”

“Very good,” ses Jack Bates, looking at Charlie agin; “then p’r’aps you’ll do me the kindness of telling that lie o’ yours agin afore this young lady.”

“It’s the truth,” ses Charlie, looking down at ’is plate.

“If somebody don’t tell me wot all this is about in two minutes, I shall do something desprit,” ses Mrs. Cook, getting up.

“This ’ere—­er—­man,” ses Jack Bates, pointing at Charlie, “owes me seventy-five pounds and won’t pay.  When I ask ’im for it he ses a party he’s keeping company with, by the name of Emma Cook, ’as got it, and he can’t get it.”

“So she has,” ses Charlie, without looking up.