“I was pretty nearly, Charlie,” ses Dixon, shaking his ’ead.  “Ah!  I’ve ’ad a terrible time since I left ’once.”

“‘You don’t seem to ha’ made your fortune,” ses Charlie, looking down at ‘is clothes.  “I’d ha’ been ashamed to come ’ome like that if it ’ad been me.”

“I’m wore out,” ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar.  “I’ve got no pride left; it’s all been knocked out of me.  How’s Julia?”

“She’s all right,” ses Charlie.  “Here, Ju—­”

“H’sh!” ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his ’and on his arm.  “Don’t let ’er know too sudden; break it to ’er gently.”

“Fiddlesticks!” ses Charlie, throwing his ’and off and calling, “Here, Julia!  He’s come back.”

Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar.  “Good gracious!” she ses, staring at her ‘us-band.  “Whoever’d ha’ thought o’ seeing you agin?  Where ’ave you sprung from?”

“Ain’t you glad to see me, Julia?” ses George Dixon.

“Yes, I s’pose so; if you’ve come back to behave yourself,” ses Mrs. Dixon.  “What ’ave you got to say for yourself for running away and then writing them letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?”

“That’s a long time ago, Julia,” ses Dixon, raising the flap in the counter and going into the bar.  “I’ve gone through a great deal o’ suffering since then.  I’ve been knocked about till I ’adn’t got any feeling left in me; I’ve been shipwrecked, and I’ve ’ad to fight for my life with savages.”

“Nobody asked you to run away,” ses his wife, edging away as he went to put his arm round ’er waist.  “You’d better go upstairs and put on some decent clothes.”

[Illustration:  “You’d better go upstairs and put on some decent clothes.”]

Dixon looked at ’er for a moment and then he ’ung his ’ead.

“I’ve been thinking o’ you and of seeing you agin every day since I went away, Julia,” he ses.  “You’d be the same to me if you was dressed in rags.”

He went upstairs without another word, and old Burge, who was coming down, came down five of ’em at once owing to Dixon speaking to ’im afore he knew who ’e was.  The old man was still grumbling when Dixon came down agin, and said he believed he’d done it a-purpose.

“You run away from a good ’ome,” he ses, “and the best wife in Wapping, and you come back and frighten people ‘arf out o’ their lives.  I never see such a feller in all my born days.”

“I was so glad to get ’ome agin I didn’t think,” ses Dixon.  “I hope you’re not ’urt.”

He started telling them all about his ’ardships while they were at tea, but none of ’em seemed to care much about hearing ’em.  Bob said that the sea was all right for men, and that other people were sure not to like it.

“And you brought it all on yourself,” ses Charlie.  “You’ve only got yourself to thank for it.  I ‘ad thought o’ picking a bone with you over those letters you wrote.”