It seemed to Alf that the bottle-imp was twinkling in the old man's eyes. Alf remembered well the advent of that imp to the blue haunts he had never quitted since. That was during the years of Ern's absence in India. Now it struck him suddenly that his father, so seeming-innocent, so remote from the world, was in the joke against him.
A glance at Ruth, malicious and amused, confirmed his suspicion.
"I'm glad you come and visit your sister sometimes, Alfred," said the old man gently.
"Yes," purred Ruth, "he comes reg'lar, Alf do now—once a week. And all in the way of friendship as the savin is. See, he's our landlord now."
"That's nice," continued the old man with the dewy innocence of a babe. "Then he can let you off your rent if you get behind."
"So he could," commented Ruth, "if only he was to think of it. Do you hear your dad, Alf?"
She paid the week's rent into his hand, coin by coin, before his father's eyes. Then he turned and slouched out.
"Good-night, Alf," Ruth said, almost affectionately. "It 'as been nice seein you and all."
Determined to enjoy her triumph to the full, she followed him to the door. In the street he turned to meet her mocking glance, in which the cruelty gleamed like a half-sheathed sword. His own eyes were impudent and familiar as they engaged hers.
"Say, Ruth, what's he after?" he asked, cautiously, in lowered voice.