Edwin wished he had been able to grow a moustache for the occasion.
“Hundreds,” he said.
Mr. Higgins gave a sigh of relief. “That’s a good thing. That’s a very good thing. You see, I’m nairvous, doctor. I lost my fairst over it, and I don’t want to lose this one. Very young she is.”
“Is this her first?”
Another bit of bad luck!
Through a maze of gritty streets they hurried, reaching, at last, a house beside a corner “public” which a cluster of women, gossiping in their aprons on the doorstep, proclaimed as the site of this momentous birth. One of them snatched the black bag from Mr. Higgins. “You get away, ’Iggins, and ’ave a pint of beer quiet like. This baint no place for an ’usband. This way, doctor. Here she is, poor lamb.”
She pushed her way up the stairs, breathing heavily. Her bunchy skirts filled the staircase, which was no wider than a loft-ladder and very dark.
“’Ere ’e is,” she cried triumphantly, as she pushed open a matchboard door. “’Ere ’e is. ’Ere’s the doctor. Now you won’t be long, my lover. ’E’ll ’elp you. You’ll ’elp ’er, won’t you, doctor?”
She deposited the talismanic bag triumphantly on the foot of the bed; then she winked at Edwin: “I’ll go and keep ’Iggins out of the way,” she said.