“How did it happen?” asked Minikin.
“'Ow does it 'appen nine times out of ten?” returned Jarman. “'E was a bit misty, and she was wide awake. 'E gets a bit spoony, and—well, you know.”
“Artful things, girls,” commented Minikin.
“Can't blame 'em,” returned Jarman, with generosity; “it's their business. Got to dispose of themselves somehow. Oughtn't to be binding without a written order dated the next morning; that'd make it all right.”
“Couldn't prove a prior engagement?” suggested Minikin.
“She'd want to see the girl first before she'd believe it—only natural,” returned Jarman.
“Couldn't get a girl?” urged Minikin.
“Who could you trust?” asked the cautious Jarman. “Besides, there ain't time. She's letting 'im rest to-day; to-morrow evening she'll be down on 'im.”
“Don't see anything for it,” said Minikin, “but for him to do a bunk.”
“Not a bad idea that,” mused Jarman; “only where's 'e to bunk to?”