back in the lobby or hide it. He decided to put it back in the stand and took it as far as the dining room door and then hesitated, for he did not wish his son to see him with it.

He turned out the dining room light and then went to the kitchen door.

"Turn that light out when you've finished," he said. "Right," said David, very much surprised that nothing else was said.

But the stick had to be hidden. Where? .

Mr. Ewins crept into the drawing room and thrust it up the chimney: it would rest there safely till the morning and then he would hide it somewhere in the works.

He kept saying to himself: "They can do nowt to me for what I've done."

His wife was awake, for she had waited to hear David come in, but she shut her eyes when her husband came in the room and pretended to be asleep.

Mr. Ewins undressed quickly, got into bed, and with an effort of will, banished from him all thoughts of Ralph Higgins and fell asleep.

CHAPTER XV

PHILOSOPHY IN A BAR-PARLOUR

R. HARVEY was in his shop, counting Guardians and cocking up an eye to glance at some tempting book on a shelf when a customer came in for a Sporting Chronicle.

"Heard about Ralph Higgins?" asked the customer. George Harvey stopped with his hand over the till. "What about him?"

"He's dead."

"Dead"

The man nodded. "Found dead in his house this morning."

George Harvey stood holding on to the counter as if he had received a blow.

"Yes. Drink, I suppose. Found by some chap this morning."

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! . . . Poor Ralph!" George Harvey turned to go towards the house. "I'm very much obliged to you for telling me," he said, "but F am very sorry to hear it, very sorry."

"Un.. and I'll be obliged for my change, Mr. Harvey," said the customer with a smile. "I gave you sixpence."

"I beg your pardon this news has upset me. Sixpence, wasn't it-a Chronicle fivepence, thank

you. Good morning

I'm so sorry, so sorry." George Harvey took off his smoking cap which was of a very bright colour, with a fine yellow tassel and walked into the kitchen to tell his wife the news.

"Dead . . . George Harvey stood fingering his cap, Margaret Harvey plunged her hands into her apron and they stood like humble people in the presence of the great.

"Oh, dear."
"Poor Ralph!"

"Yes, and he looked so much better the other day.” "Yes. Just near getting his patent out, too," said George. "But so many go just when they are about to do something."

"Well, we don't understand . . ." she said quickly as if she were thinking of great distances and mysteries. "Poor Ralph! Found dead, eh?”

"Yes. I suppose the destroying Angel thought it was perhaps best. Fortune might have been

no good to him. . Poor Ralph."

"He's joined Helen at last." Her lips quivered. "She said she'd be always looking out for him.”

"Yes. Poor Helen. . . Well, perhaps she met him and maybe he's happier now than he ever was since she left him. Who knows?"

"I don't suppose he had many friends, George," said Margaret, wiping her eyes. "There'll be his funeral to arrange."

"We'll do that, Margaret, if there's no relative: he was an old friend." He said it as if the word "friend" meant something. "It's a gap. . Poor

Ralph!"

"Poor Ralph!"

In the town gossip was general: in the public houses at night it grew piquant. The "Brown Bear" habitués seized on the news with their mugs.

"Well, Ralph 'Iggins is gone," said Richardson, a familiar man with a jug of beer.

"Aye. Must ha' bin sudden. Jerry Sellars fun (found) 'im, didn't 'e?” said Phillipson, a shaper from one of the hat shops.

"I allus knew 'e'd go off sudden. Clever chap, too. But I allus knew 'e'd go off sudden. I knew that he would."

"Oh! Aye, clever enough: an' like so many o' them clever 'uns 'e looked too much in the bottom of a pint pot an' too little in 'is pocket," said another man with a nod and a wink.

"Ought to ha' made 'is fortune wi' that 'ead o' 'is." "Aye. Allus thinkin' summat out.”

"Well," said Brimlow, "'e's gettin' summat to think out now."

"You can be as sharp as a eel, but nob'dy's bin clever enough to get out o' owd Death's bar parlour," said Richardson, nodding his head. "Clever or not clever -they're aw' t' same theer."

"Now

(no) Now . .

That beats 'em.

Th' owd chap Death knows what 'e's doin' when 'e gets 'is fingers on a body," added Brimlow. "'E'll ha' me some day, I reckon-damn 'im!"

"Aye, by Gum! There's some as 'ud give money to 'ave 'im throttled if they could."

Then there was a silence.

Some of those present drank out of their jugs; others spat in the spittoons filled with sawdust and one or two looked vacantly at nothing.

"Rum thing death," said Phillipson, shaking his head.

"No rummer than life," said Richardson.

"It's all rum," said Brimlow. "I've pinched mysel' lots o' times to make sure as it's all real. But it's real enough when I've getten' my wages in my pocket," and he winked and nodded.

"There's one thing," said Richardson, "tha winna pinch thisel when tha'rt dead."

They all laughed, very glad of a little relief, though as a rule they were very pleased to discuss serious topics.

Barker, a driver from the L. & N. W. Railway Goods Yard, said:

"An' didna Ralph 'ate owd Ewins!"

Them

"E did that. I dunna blame 'im, either. two-Ewins an' Tugwell! They'd rob a corpse, they would. Tugwell's no use t' anybody, if you ask me. 'E's a sucker-up, that's what Tugwell is, a suckerup. I've never seen owt in that chap yet. But Ewins

. . 'e's a Heller, 'e is! 'E's first prize, Colonel o' the Devil's own 'e is. 'E'd rob a widow wi' twelve kids, 'e would. I think 'e 'as 'is milk jugs made o' indyrubber so's 'e can turn 'em inside out an' lick 'em."

They all laughed again and that encouraged Richardson, who laughed at his own jokes and looked round to see that everybody else was laughing too.

"Aye," he said, with a kind of relish as if he really enjoyed talking. "Ewins is a freak, that's what 'e is. 'E'd sell th' parings off 'is nails if 'e could make money by 'em. Thank God! 'e'll 'ave to leave 'is brass behind 'im, for it 'ud only melt where 'e's goin'."