"That's how it is I never see him, I suppose," said Mrs. Kay. "Funny, ain't it? I've never set eyes on your new lodger yet."
"Well, he ain't much to look at, but he's a good 'un," said the landlady; "pays his rent reg'lar to the day, which is more than many folks do."
The words had a significance which made Mrs. Kay uneasy. She remembered that her rent was over-due. When she was "on the drink," she was wont to forget that there was such a thing as rent.
Just then Bert tugged at her gown.
"There he is Mrs. Kay," he whispered. "Look, if you ain't seen him, there he is."
Mrs. Kay glanced into the street. A man stood at the top of the area steps—a bundle of papers was strapped to his back, and he carried a paste-pot and a big brush. He had paused for a moment to adjust his burden ere he descended to his room. Mrs. Kay had a good view of him. The next moment she staggered back into the passage, her face wearing such a startled look that Bert exclaimed in alarm,—
"Oh, what is the matter, Mrs. Kay? Do you know him? Have you seen him before?"
For answer, she dealt him a stinging box on the ears, then vanished into her room, slamming the door behind her.
The landlady laughed at Bert's discomfiture. "She's a queer one, she is," she said, "but it serves you right for asking impertinent questions. You want to know too much, you do."
Very early the next morning, Bert, sleeping in his corner under the stairs, was roused by the noise of the area gate swinging on its hinges. Noiselessly, on bare feet, he sped to the house door, which was never locked—for the lodgers came in at all hours of the night—and opening it a few inches peeped out. It was as he thought, the sailor was departing on his trip to Liverpool. He was wearing the blue pilot coat and peaked cap which he usually reserved for Sundays, and he carried in his hand a neatly-made bundle.