"Is that good gentleman of yours home, Mrs. Kebby?" he asked, in the loud tones used to deaf people.
"Oh, he's home," grumbled Mrs. Kebby ungraciously, "sittin' afore the fire like Solomon in all his glory. What d'ye want to know for?"
"I saw him an hour ago," explained Blinders, "and I thought he looked ill."
"So he do, like a corpse. What of that? We've all got to come to it some day. 'Ow d'ye know but what he won't be dead afore morning? Well, I don't care. He's paid me up till to-night. I'm going to enj'y myself, I am."
"Don't you get drunk, Mrs. Kebby, or I'll lock you up."
"Garn!" grunted the old beldame. "Wot's Christmas Eve for, if it ain't for folk to enj'y theirselves? Y'are on duty early."
"I'm taking the place of a sick comrade, and I'll be on duty all night. That's my Christmas."
"Well! well! Let every one enj'y hisself as he likes," muttered Mrs. Kebby, and shuffled off to the nearest public house.
Here she began to celebrate the season, and afterwards went shopping; then she celebrated the season again, and later carried home her purchases to the miserable garret she occupied. In this den Mrs. Kebby, with the aid of gin and water, celebrated the season until she drank herself to sleep.
Next morning she woke in anything but an amiable mood, and had to fortify herself with an early drink before she was fit to go about her business.