“Yes, I dessay,” replied the other, edging away.
“It’s all right, Bill,” said a mutual friend, through the half-open door; “he’s got a new ’art.”
Mr. Ricketts looked perplexed. “’Art disease, d’ye mean?” he inquired, hopefully. “Can’t he fight no more?”
“A new ’art,” said Mr. Billing. “It’s as strong as ever it was, but it’s changed—brother.”
“If you call me ‘brother’ agin I’ll give you something for yourself, and chance it,” said Mr. Ricketts, ferociously. “I’m a pore man, but I’ve got my pride.”
Mr. Billing, with a smile charged with brotherly love, leaned his left cheek towards him. “Hit it,” he said, gently.
“Give it a smack and run, Bill,” said the voice of a well-wisher inside.
“There’d be no need for ’im to run,” said Mr. Billing. “I wouldn’t hit ’im back for anything. I should turn the other cheek.”
“Whaffor?” inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts.
“For another swipe,” said Mr. Billing, radiantly.