He finished his coffee, cleared the table, and washed up the crockery, took his bowler hat from the hall-stand, and went out.
A bus took him to Bermondsey. He alighted, and plunged into a network of gloomy streets, arriving after a quarter of an hour's walk at a seedy-looking public-house in a low quarter. He entered and called for a double whisky.
The house had only just opened, but a number of customers, who had apparently been waiting on the doorstep for this desirable event, were already clustered about the bar. The man who might have been a footman reached for his glass, and in doing so jostled the elbow of a flash person in a check suit and regrettable tie.
"Here!" expostulated the flash person, "what d'yer mean by it? We don't want your sort here. Get out!"
He emphasised his remarks with a few highly coloured words, and a violent push in the chest.
"Bar's free to everybody, isn't it?" said the other, returning the shove with interest.
"Now then!" said the barmaid, "none o' that. The gentleman didn't do it intentional, Mr. Jukes."
"Didn't he?" said Mr. Jukes. "Well, I did."
"And you ought to be ashamed of yourself," retorted the young lady, with a toss of the head. "I'll have no quarrelling in my bar—not this time in the morning."
"It was quite an accident," said the man from Lambeth. "I'm not one to make a disturbance, having always been used to the best houses. But if any gentleman wants to make trouble——"