“You’ve lost,” he ses, pushing the door to and smiling all over.  “Where’s your sixpence?”

“Lost?” I ses, hardly able to speak.  “D’ye mean to tell me you’ve been to my wife arter all—­arter all I said to you?”

“I do,” he ses, nodding, and smiling agin.  “They were both deceived as easy as easy.”

“Both?” I ses, staring at ’im.  “Both wot?  ’Ow many wives d’ye think I’ve got?  Wot d’ye mean by it?”

“Arter I left you,” he ses, giving me a little poke in the ribs, “I picked up a cab and, fust leaving my bag at Aldgate, I drove on to your ’ouse and knocked at the door.  I knocked twice, and then an angry-looking woman opened it and asked me wot I wanted.

“‘It’s all right, missis,’ I ses.  ’I’ve got ’arf an hour off, and I’ve come to take you out for a walk.’

“‘Wot?’ she ses, drawing back with a start.

“‘Just a little turn round to see the shops,’ I ses; ’and if there’s anything particler you’d like and it don’t cost too much, you shall ’ave it.’

“I thought at fust, from the way she took it, she wasn’t used to you giving ’er things.

“‘Ow dare you!’ she ses.  ’I’ll ’ave you locked up.  ’Ow dare you insult a respectable married woman!  You wait till my ’usband comes ‘ome.’

“’But I am your ‘usband,’ I ses.  ’Don’t you know me, my pretty?  Don’t you know your pet sailor-boy?’

“She gave a screech like a steam-injin, and then she went next door and began knocking away like mad.  Then I see that I ’ad gorn to number twelve instead of number fourteen.  Your wife, your real wife, came out of number fourteen—­and she was worse than the other.  But they both thought it was you—­there’s no doubt of that.  They chased me all the way up the road, and if it ‘adn’t ha’ been for this cab that was just passing I don’t know wot would ’ave ’appened to me.”

He shook his ’ead and smiled agin, and, arter opening the wicket a trifle and telling the cabman he shouldn’t be long, he turned to me and asked me for the sixpence, to wear on his watch-chain.

“Sixpence!” I ses.  “Sixpence!” Wot do you think is going to ’appen to me when I go ’ome?”

“Oh, I ‘adn’t thought o’ that,” he ses.  “Yes, o’ course.”

“Wot about my wife’s jealousy?” I ses.  “Wot about the other, and her ’usband, a cooper as big as a ’ouse?”

“Well, well,” he ses, “one can’t think of everything.  It’ll be all the same a hundred years hence.”

“Look ’ere,” I ses, taking ’is shoulder in a grip of iron.  “You come back with me now in that cab and explain.  D’ye see?  That’s wot you’ve got to do.”

“All right,” he ses; “certainly.  Is—­is the husband bad-tempered?”

“You’ll see,” I ses; “but that’s your business.  Come along.”

“With pleasure,” he ses, ’elping me in. “‘Arf a mo’ while I tell the cabby where to drive to.”

He went to the back o’ the cab, and afore I knew wot had ’appened the ’orse had got a flick over the head with the whip and was going along at a gallop.  I kept putting the little flap up and telling the cabby to stop, but he didn’t take the slightest notice.  Arter I’d done it three times he kept it down so as I couldn’t open it.