“Saw your guv’nor last night,” the boy grinned.
“Where’s that cream I ordered, and that quart of nursery milk? You can’t mind your business for thinking of picture palaces.”
“Keep your ’air on; coming up now.—I say, they put ’is ’ead under a steam-’ammer. I said it was a dummy, but Gwen said it wasn’t. Was it ’im?”
“You mind your own interference, young man, and leave others to mind theirs; you ought to have something better to do with your threepences than collecting cigarette cards and taking girls to the pictures.”
“It was in ‘Bullseye Bill: A Drarmer of Love an’ ‘Ate’—‘Scoundrel, ’ow dare you speak those words to a pure wife an’ mother on the very threshold of the ‘Ouse of——’”
“That’s enough, young man—we don’t want language Taken in Vain here—and you can tell ’em at your place we’re leaving soon.”
“But was that ’im in the long whiskers at the end, when the powder magazine blew up?”
But Ruth, taking her cans, shut down the window and returned to the kitchen.
“‘Then O, my Lord, prepare——’” she crooned as she gave a peep into the oven and then clanged the door to again, “‘My soul for that blest day——’”
They were leaving soon. Already the sub-letting of the flat was in an agent’s hands, and soon Stan would be braving the perils of his career no longer. Dorothy had unfolded her idea to her aunt, and Lady Tasker had raised no objection, provided Dorothy could raise the money by bringing Aunt Eliza into line.