“But you saved our pet!” cried the landlord. “You see, that gent there’s been telling us all about it! It come out quite by accident, to—we was talking about billiard-marking; that was what led up to it, some’ow. Anyway, you saved our cat, and me and my missis are very grateful to you for it. And you’ve been keeping it till you felt less knocked about, and then you were going to try and find its home! Well, you’re saved that trouble, anyway!”
“From what I saw of you the other night,” confessed the landlady, “I should never have thought you could have behaved so noble.”
Husband and wife now retired apart for a brief whispered colloquy. Within one minute of its conclusion, Mr. Lock had been offered and had accepted the vacant post of billiard-marker and odd-job man to the “Royal William”. . . .
Late that same night, Mr. Tridge ceased undressing and looked across at Mr. Lock.
“You’re right, Peter!” he admitted. “They are!”
EPISODE V
A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT
“Joe,” said Mr. Horace Dobb, coming out of a long meditative silence, “’ave you ever ’ad words with a prize-fighter?”
“Once,” admitted Mr. Joseph Tridge. “And only once! Never no more for me!” he ended, very definitely.
“What ’appened?”
“Why, I started to ’ave words with ’im,” returned Mr. Tridge.