“If I was getting as much out of it as you are I'd be a 'appy man,” sighed Mr. Smith.
“Me!” cried the other; “do you think I'd take money for this—why, I'd sooner starve, I'd sooner. Wot are you a-tapping your nose for?”
“Was I tapping it?” demanded Mr. Smith, in surprise. “Well, I didn't know it. I'm glad you told me.”
“You're quite welcome,” said the steward, sharply. “Crimping ain't in my line; I'd sooner sweep the roads.”
“'Ear, 'ear,” exclaimed Mr. Smith, approvingly. “Ah! wot a thing it is to come acrost an honest man. Wot a good thing it is for the eyesight.”
He stared stonily somewhere in the direction of Mr. Wilks, and then blinking rapidly shielded his eyes with his hand as though overcome by the sight of so much goodness. The steward's wrath rose at the performance, and he glowered back at him until his eyes watered.
“Twenty past six,” said Mr. Smith, suddenly, as he fumbled in his waistcoat-pocket and drew out a small folded paper. “It's time I made a start. I s'pose you've got some salt in the house?”
“Plenty,” said Mr. Wilks.
“And beer?” inquired the other.
“Yes, there is some beer,” said the steward.