Ted scratched his jaw reflectively; the argument seemed to touch him. After a pause he rose and crossed the room to a chest of drawers in the corner. Unlocking an upper drawer he took out a greasy leathern purse with which he returned to the expectant group. Opening it, with a kind of groan, he extracted five shillings, which he handed over to Joe Lovelady.
"Theer," he said, "it is but fair when all's said an' done. Theer! ye can have a wet wi' that."
"Reet, I knowed ye wasn't one as 'ud play us a dirty trick. Coom along, an' we'se have a drop all round, an' drink thy 'ealth an' th' bride's too. Ho! ho! ho! Aye, we'se wish thee an' thy missus good luck! Coom, we'se step out an' mak' up for lost time."
"Nay, nay," said Ted, shaking his head with gentle melancholy. "I'll noan go wi' you—I met rue it at arter. Nay, I'll wish ye good-bye an' good luck, all on you, but I'll bide wheer I am."
He returned thereupon to his concertina, meeting all further persuasions by deep sighs and obdurate shakes of the head; and, finding their efforts useless, the party withdrew at last, to drink his health without him.
As they retraced their steps the uncertain notes of Ted's concertina came floating after them, borne upon the evening breeze; gradually these shaped themselves into a tune, a tune which their incredulous ears were at last forced to identify. Joe Lovelady suddenly paused and threw out his hand.
"'Ark, all on ye, 'ark at that! Do ye know the tune th' owd lad's hammerin' at?"
They all paused, holding their breaths; and then shouts of laughter broke the stillness.
Radical Ted was playing God Save the Queen.