“What’s that?” said Alf, incautiously. “Beer?”
“Beer!” cried Pa. “Beer!” It was the cry of one who had been malignantly defrauded, a piteous wail.
“There!” said both the girls, simultaneously. Jenny added: “Now you’ve done it!”
“All right, Pa! Not time yet!” But Emmy went to the kitchen cupboard as Pa continued to express the yearning that filled his aged heart.
“Sorry!” whispered Alf. “Hold me hand out, naughty boy!”
“He’s like a baby with his titty bottle,” explained Emmy. “Now he’ll be quiet again.”
Alf fidgeted a little. This contretemps had unnerved him. He was less sure of himself.
“Well,” he said at last, darkly. “What I came in about ... Quarter to eight, is it? By Jove, I’m late. That’s telling Mr. Blanchard all the news. The fact is, I’ve got a couple of tickets for the theatre down the road—for this evening, I thought ... erum ...”
“Oh, extravagance!” cried Jenny, gaily, dropping the pin from between her lips and looking in an amused flurry at Emmy’s anguished face opposite. It was as though a chill had struck across the room, as though both Emmy’s heart and her own had given a sharp twist at the shock.
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. That’s what cleverness does for you.” Alf nodded his head deeply and reprovingly. “Given to me, they were, by a pal o’ mine who works at the theatre. They’re for to-night. I thought—”