“I thought you was going to turn in?” I ses.

“I did think of it,” he ses, “then I thought p’r’aps I’d better stroll as far as Broad Street and meet my wife.”

It was all I could do to keep a straight face.  I’d a pretty good idea where she ’ad gorn; and it wasn’t Dalston.

“Come in and ’ave ’arf a pint fust,” I ses.

“No; I shall be late,” he ses, hurrying off.

I went in and ’ad a glass by myself, and stood there so long thinking of Mrs. Smithers walking up and down by Cleopatra’s Needle that at last the landlord fust asked me wot I was laughing at, and then offered to make me laugh the other side of my face.  And then he wonders why people go to the Albion.

I locked the gate rather earlier than usual that night.  Sometimes if I’m up that end I leave it a bit late, but I didn’t want Mrs. Smithers to come along and nip in without me seeing her face.

It was ten o’clock afore I heard the bell go, and when I opened the wicket and looked out I was surprised to see that she ’ad got the skipper with ’er.  And of all the miserable-looking objects I ever saw in my life he was the worst.  She ’ad him tight by the arm, and there was a look on ’er face that a’most scared me.

“Did you go all the way to Dalston for her?” I ses to ’im.

Mrs. Smithers made a gasping sort o’ noise, but the skipper didn’t answer a word.

She shoved him in in front of ’er and stood ever ’im while he climbed aboard.  When he held out ’is hand to help ’er she struck it away.

I didn’t get word with ’im till five o’clock next morning, when he came up on deck with his ’air all rough and ’is eyes red for want of sleep.

“Haven’t ’ad a wink all night,” he ses, stepping on to the wharf.

I gave a little cough.  “Didn’t she ’ave a pleasant time at Dalston?” I ses.

He walked a little further off from the ship.  “She didn’t go there,” he ses, in a whisper.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” I ses.  “Wot is it?”

He wouldn’t tell me at fust, but at last he told me all about the letter from Dorothy, and ’is wife reading it unbeknown to ’im and going to meet ’er.

“It was an awful meeting!” he ses.  “Awful!”

I couldn’t think wot to make of it.  “Was the gal there, then?” I ses, staring at ’im.

“No,” ses the skipper; “but I was.”

“You?” I ses, starting back.  “You!  Wot for?  I’m surprised at you!  I wouldn’t ha’ believed it of you!”

“I felt a bit curious,” he ses, with a silly sort o’ smile.  “But wot I can’t understand is why the gal didn’t turn up.”

“I’m ashamed of you, Bill,” I ses, very severe.

“P’r’aps she did,” he ses, ’arf to ’imself, “and then saw my missis standing there waiting.  P’r’aps that was it.”

“Or p’r’aps it was somebody ’aving a game with you,” I ses.

“You’re getting old, Bill,” he ses, very short.  “You don’t understand.  It’s some pore gal that’s took a fancy to me, and it’s my dooty to meet ’er and tell her ’ow things are.”