“Finished, me!” roared Mr. Clark, to this apparition.
“Don’t you be a silly old stoopid!” counselled Mr. Dobb. “You stick to your job like a man!”
“But it ain’t a man’s job!” declared Mr. Clark. “Sneaking about, watching gals, at my time of life! I’ll trouble you to ’and in my resignation for me to Mr. Poskett, because some’ow I don’t think it ’ud be safe for me to see ’im—safe for ’im, I mean!”
“You wait a bit,” directed Mr. Dobb. “I’ll come down to you.”
And this he did, unbolting the shop door and revealing himself in a chaste dressing-gown of crimson flannel. Dragging the fretful Mr. Clark into the back premises, he hospitably set out glasses and a bottle, and Mr. Clark’s snarls of annoyance died away into murmurs of faint protest.
“Look ’ere,” said Horace, seriously, “you take it from me that you’re doing very well. Better than you think. It don’t matter whether you catches ’er with the chap or not; the main point is that he knows by now that you’re in earnest.”
“But ’ow does ’e know?” queried Mr. Clark.
“She’s told ’im! She’s kept away from ’im on purpose to diddle you, but she’s let ’im know by a note what’s ’appened last night, and you can bet she’ll let ’im know what ’appened to-night.”
“’Ow do you know?”
“Because,” was Mr. Dobb’s astonishing answer, “because I know ’oo the fellow is! I not only know ’im, but I know ’im well enough to be very friendly with ’im, and it was ’im what told me she’s sent ’im word.”