The Boy’s head is again seen rising above the level of the
     window-sill, and another and another follows, till the three,
     as if decapitated, heads are seen in a row.

Boys’ voices. [One after another in a whispered crescendo] Johnny Builder!  Johnny Builder!  Johnny Builder!

Builder rises, turns and stares at them.  The three heads disappear, and a Boy’s voice cries shrilly:  “Johnny Builder!” Builder moves towards the window; voices are now crying in various pitches and keys:  “Johnny Builder!” “Beatey Builder!” “Beat ’is wife-er!” “Beatey Builder!”

Builder stands quite motionless, staring, with the street lamp lighting up a queer, rather pitiful defiance on his face.  The voices swell.  There comes a sudden swish and splash of water, and broken yells of dismay.

Topping’s voice.  Scat! you young devils!

     The sound of scuffling feet and a long-drawnout and distant
     “Miaou!”

     Builder stirs, shuts the window, draws the curtains, goes to the
     armchair before the fireplace and sits down in it.

     Topping enters with a little tray on which is a steaming jug of
     fluid, some biscuits and a glass.  He comes stealthily up level with
     the chair.  Builder stirs and looks up at him.

Topping.  Excuse me, sir, you must ’ave digested yesterday morning’s breakfast by now—­must live to eat, sir.

Builder.  All right.  Put it down.

Topping. [Putting the tray down on the table and taking up Builder’s pipe] I fair copped those young devils.

Builder.  You’re a good fellow.

Topping. [Filling the pipe] You’ll excuse me, sir; the Missis—­has come back, sir—­

     Builder stares at him and topping stops.  He hands builder the
     filled pipe and a box of matches.

Builder. [With a shiver] Light the fire, Topping.  I’m chilly.

While topping lights the fire builder puts the pipe in his mouth and applies a match to it.  Topping, having lighted the fire, turns to go, gets as far as half way, then comes back level with the table and regards the silent brooding figure in the chair.

Builder. [Suddenly] Give me that paper on the table.  No; the other one—­the Will.

     Topping takes up the Will and gives it to him.

Topping. [With much hesitation] Excuse me, sir.  It’s pluck that get’s ’em ’ome, sir—­begging your pardon.

     Builder has resumed his attitude and does not answer.

[In a voice just touched with feeling] Good-night, sir.

Builder. [Without turning his head] Good-night.