"'Ere's yer key," he said helplessly, to make a beginning.
"This is my key," said Mrs Partridge, feeling in her pocket, "an' the other one is under the flower-pot for William, if I'm out. I dunno what you mean."
"I mean this is the key of yer new 'ouse in Surry Hills," said Chook, fumbling hopelessly with the piece of iron.
"You've bin drinkin', an' the beer's gone to yer 'ead," said Mrs Partridge, unwilling to take offence.
"I tell yer I'm as dry as a bone," cried Chook, losing patience.
"Yer think yer live in Botany Street, but yer don't. Yer live in Foveaux Street, an' this is the key of the 'ouse."
"I think I live in Botany Street, but I've moved to Foveaux Street," repeated Mrs Partridge, but the words conveyed no meaning to her mind.
She came closer to Chook. He looked and smelt sober, and suddenly a horrid suspicion ran through her mind that her brain was softening. She was older than they thought, for she had taken five years off her age when she had married William. In an agony of fear she searched her memory for the events of the past month, trying to recall any symptom of illness that should have warned her. She could remember nothing, and turned to Chook with a wild fear in her eyes. Something must be wrong with him.
"Can you understand what you're sayin'?" she asked.
"Yes," said Chook, anxious to get it over. "Yer lived in Botany Street this morning, but yer moved to-day, an' now yer live in Foveaux Street in the 'ouse yer picked on Monday."