“And what you think of doing now, James?” they asked. (“Here’s luck!”)
“Well,” he said slowly, “I s’pose eventually I shall ’ave to find, as the missis says, something or other. But not yet for a month or two.”
“You’ll probably discover a chance of—”
“No,” said James with emphasis. “Not me! No more jobs on the cross for this child. Risks are too great.”
“But you don’t mean to say that you’re going to chuck it?” The men were so much amazed that their glasses remained in mid-air.
“If you guess again,” said James stolidly, “you’ll be wrong.”
He looked about in Hoxton the rest of the evening for friends, and looked about in vain. The next day he called on his closest friend, the bookmaker; the bookmaker was just off to Kempton Park and in peril of losing a train at Waterloo. He had heard, it seemed, of James’s decision, and James could trace no sign of the generous friendship previously expressed. To James’s suggestion that he should accompany the bookmaker to Kempton Park, and enjoy a day at the other’s expense, the reply came prompt and definite. “That be ’anged for a tale!” said the bookmaker.
On the following Monday James went to ask about the job of work to which his wife had referred; all his worst fears were confirmed when he found himself successful in obtaining it.
“Drawback of being an ’ero is,” said James gloomily, “that it don’t last much more than about five minutes.”