“I've brought 'im 'ome,” he said, steadying himself against the doorpost; “brought 'im 'ome.”
“Brought 'im 'ome?” said the bewildered Mrs. Silk.
“Don' say anything to 'im,” entreated Mr. Wilks, “my sake. Thing might 'appen anybody.”
“He's been like that all the way,” said Mr. Silk, regarding the steward with much disfavour. “I don't know why I troubled about him, I'm sure.”
“Crowd roun 'im,” pursued the imaginative Mr. Wilks. “'Old up, Teddy.”
“I'm sure it's very kind of you, Mr. Wilks,” said the widow, as she glanced at a little knot of neighbours standing near. “Will you come inside for a minute or two?”
She moved the chair to let him pass, and Mr. Wilks, still keeping the restraining hand of age on the shoulder of intemperate youth, passed in and stood, smiling amiably, while Mrs. Silk lit the lamp and placed it in the centre of the table, which was laid for supper. The light shone on a knuckle of boiled pork, a home-made loaf, and a fresh-cut wedge of cheese.
“I suppose you won't stay and pick a bit o' supper with us?” said Mrs. Silk.
“Why not?” inquired Mr. Wilks.
“I'm sure, if I had known,” said Mrs. Silk, as she piloted him to a seat, “I'd 'ave 'ad something nice. There, now! If I 'aven't been and forgot the beer.”