[Illustration:  “‘Go and sleep somewhere else, then,’ ses Dixon.”]

He sat down and put ’is feet in the fender, and old Burge, as soon as he ’ad got ’is senses back, went into the bar and complained to ’is niece, and she came into the parlour like a thunderstorm.

“You’ll beg my uncle’s pardon as well as mine afore you come out o’ that room,” she said to her ’usband; “mind that.”

George Dixon didn’t say a word; the shame of it was a’most more than ’e could stand.  Then ‘e got up to go out o’ the parlour and Charlie pushed ’im back agin.  Three times he tried, and then ’e stood up and looked at ’is wife.

“I’ve been a good ’usband to you,” he ses; “but there’s no satisfying you.  You ought to ha’ married somebody that would ha’ knocked you about, and then you’d ha’ been happy.  I’m too fond of a quiet life to suit you.”

“Are you going to beg my pardon and my uncle’s pardon?” ses ’is wife, stamping ’er foot.

“No,” ses Dixon; “I am not.  I’m surprised at you asking it.”

“Well, you don’t come out o’ this room till you do,” ses ’is wife.

“That won’t hurt me,” ses Dixon.  “I couldn’t look anybody in the face arter being pushed out o’ my own bar.”

They kept ‘im there all the rest o’ the day, and, as ’e was still obstinate when bedtime came, Mrs. Dixon, who wasn’t to be beat, brought down some bedclothes and ’ad a bed made up for ’im on the sofa.  Some men would ha’ ’ad the police in for less than that, but George Dixon ’ad got a great deal o’ pride and ‘e couldn’t bear the shame of it.  Instead o’ that ’e acted like a fourteen-year-old boy and ran away to sea.

They found ’im gone when they came down in the morning, and the side-door on the latch.  He ’ad left a letter for ’is wife on the table, telling ’er wot he ’ad done.  Short and sweet it was, and wound up with telling ’er to be careful that her uncle and cousins didn’t eat ’er out of house and ’ome.

She got another letter two days arterward, saying that he ’ad shipped as ordinary seaman on an American barque called the Seabird, bound for California, and that ’e expected to be away a year, or thereabouts.

“It’ll do ’im good,” ses old Burge, when Mrs. Dixon read the letter to ’em.  “It’s a ’ard life is the sea, and he’ll appreciate his ’ome when ’e comes back to it agin.  He don’t know when ’e’s well off.  It’s as comfortable a ’ome as a man could wish to ’ave.”  It was surprising wot a little difference George Dixon’s being away made to the Blue Lion.  Nobody seemed to miss ’im much, and things went on just the same as afore he went.  Mrs. Dixon was all right with most people, and ’er relations ’ad a very good time of it; old Burge began to put on flesh at such a rate that the sight of a ladder made ’im ill a’most, and Charlie and Bob went about as if the place belonged to ’em.