"Well—" she began emphatically, then she stooped to pick up the sixpence.
Frank sighed.
"Oh! don't begin all that—there's a good girl. I've said it all myself—quite adequately, I assure you."
Gertie's mouth opened again. She laid the sixpence on the table.
"I mean, there's nothing to be said," explained Frank. "The point is—what's to be done?"
Gertie had no suggestions. She began to scrape out the frying-pan in which the herrings had been cooked last night.
"There's a letter for you," she said suddenly.
Frank sat up.
"Where?"
"In the drawer there—by your hand. Frankie...."