Then Nancy sang to Bram’s accompaniment, after which Bram gave imitations of familiar animals to the intense pleasure of Mr. Breadcutt, who slapped his leg and declared he was a blooming marvel.
“George!” snapped his wife.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Don’t swear!”
“Blooming isn’t swearing.”
“It’s as near as not to be worth an argument,” she said severely.
This caused Mr. Breadcutt to wink at Mr. Watcher, who thought he was winking at Mrs. Pottage and did not respond.
Then Mr. Hopkins tried to remember for the benefit of the company what he assured everybody was a capital game that he often used to play at social gatherings twenty years ago.
“We all sit round in a circle,” he began in a doleful voice. “Wait a minute, what do you do next? Oh, yes,” he went on, as soon as he was sure that Mr. Watcher had been successfully isolated from Mrs. Pottage. “Now we all join hands.” Perhaps the emotion of finding her plump hand firmly imprisoned in his own was too much for the ship-chandler, for he could not remember what was the next move. “Wait a minute,” he implored, holding Mrs. Pottage’s hand tighter than ever. “Don’t move, and I’ll remember in a jiffy. Oh, yes, I’ve got it! I knew I would! Somebody has to be in the middle of the circle. Mr. Watcher, perhaps you’d stand in the middle, will you?”
“Hadn’t you better stand in the middle yourself?” the coal-merchant replied. “You thought of this game. We aren’t guilty.”