The girl pouted. "'E would go."
"But you wanted to go, Bill."
"Of course; but I said——"
"I know—about the biby; but——"
"There you go again. Didn't you say I must?"
"Oh, well, Mr. Montague"—the little woman looked frankly into his gray-blue, unreadable eyes—"the biby's a boy, and when he grows up I cawn't say to 'im, ''Arry, your father was a slacker!' Now, can I, Mr. Montague?"
He made no answer, but a thoughtful look crept into the hard, unsmiling eyes.
"Come and have a bit of supper, pard?" Private Waller rubbed his hands together at the prospect.
"No—no, thanks," said Montague hastily. He was longing for privacy and the solace that comes with solitude. "Some other night, perhaps, when we have our uniforms."
"Good enough!" cried the cheery little man. "Then we'll do Queen Street together and show the girls—what ho—oh no!"